Telephone
by Vague Notion
Summary: The phone calls had plagued him since middle school; he was used to them. The last thing he expected was for Finn to answer the phone and fight back. Violence, KurtFinn bonding, Klaine. Info inside.
1. Dial Tone

**Summary**: The phone calls had plagued him since middle school; he was used to them. The last thing he expected was for Finn to answer the phone and fight back.  
**Warnings**: Potential violence if there are future chapters; homophobia; language.  
**Pairings**: _Brother bonding_ between Finn and Kurt. No romance, sorry!

Enjoy!

-x-x-x-

**Please hang up and try again.**

Kurt answers the phone with a guarded sense of dread. Around the time when he was thirteen, the calls started. They were few and far between-maybe once every four months-but when they happened, they terrified him. Upon reflection, he realized that they probably happened more frequently than that, only it was his father who answered the phone, not him. And his father would never tell Kurt about them.

Oddly, it wasn't the first time that was the worst, but the second. The first time, it was some kids from his middle school. Probably one of the kids from his biology class, who knew that his dad worked late evenings because he was so frequently partnered with the bullies there. And that sort of thing becomes common knowledge when you constantly have to explain why you can't work on the project, because there will be no adult there to help. When he picked up the phone, he had answered as politely as he could. They called him a faggot, and hung up, laughing.

And it stung. It shook him, right down to the core of his being. It was the first time he had been called that word, and he hadn't anticipated it's powerful effect on him.

The second time was worse, though. It happened five months later, toward the end of the school year. He had almost forgotten about the first call, and when he answered, it was the same polite greeting: _Hummel residence, this is Kurt!_ He liked to try and sound official, like the way his father answered the phone at the shop.

_You're a disgraceful mark against God, boy. You'll burn in hell for all eternity for being a damn queer, you hear me? Fucking faggot._

Even years later, he could repeat the call word-for-word. He was only thirteen; he didn't even understand puberty yet, despite his father's halting attempts at explaining it. And here was this phone call, this man who _had_ to be old enough to be a parent, with a voice that deep and commanding. Calling his home and calling him such a vile name. An adult. He was shocked.

He had hung up, and put the phone down. Stepped away. Stepped back, picked up the phone, took out the batteries. He didn't know how else to keep them from calling back; he thought someone was going to try and attack him.

His father had rushed home an hour later after calling the house seven times with no answer. He found Kurt curled in the laundry room, his tears renewed at the sight of his father. He wouldn't say why he was crying, only that someone was mean on the phone. No specifics.

But Burt Hummel knew what had happened.

The older he got, the more frequent the calls. Though still peppered over the course of a few months, they would come with the same viciousness that the second one had had. His father was quick to get him a cell phone, with a number that no one could look up in the phonebook. They hardly used the land line at their house anymore; only for ordering pizza and calling the school during a sick day. The routine was consistent, and easy, and the phone calls stopped bothering Kurt. At least, they carried less weight.

And then Carole and Burt were married, and the Hudsons moved in with the Hummels. Kurt hadn't thought about the calls being a problem, and if Burt had, he didn't say anything about it. They moved to a new house after a month, something bigger and more family-friendly. Kurt missed his basement, but he got a huge room upstairs, with a view of the backyard. And he was content.

Until one night, when Burt and Carole went on a date, leaving Finn and Kurt alone. Finn was eager to play Mario Kart, insisting that Kurt race him. The Soprano had been reluctant until he spotted that Finn had unlocked Rosalina, and he took the controller in a huff.

As it turned out, the game was much easier than Kurt had anticipated. His hands, trained to be so careful when handling delicate buttons and applying face moisturizers, quickly mastered the level of dexterity needed to be good at the game. On top of that, the running commentary between he and Finn constantly left them winded from laughter. It was more bonding time than either had had time to enjoy.

Eventually, though, their stomachs called.

"I'm going to go get something to eat, you hungry?" Finn asked between cups. Kurt glanced at him, shrugging.

"You wanna cut a grapefruit for me?"

Finn laughed. "Dude, you eat _so many_ of those."

"They're good for you," he countered, restraining from mentioning the benefits they had for his skin. He could tone down the gay a bit, since Finn and he had finally found a way to effortlessly bond. He didn't want to ruin it.

"Whatever. I'll be right back."

Finn's steps vanished from the living room into the kitchen. The muted sounds of a fridge opening and someone rummaging around reached back to Kurt's ears, but he thought little of it. The couch was warm and comfortable, and he wasn't yet tired of the repetitive game music. For a brief few moments, he slumped against the cushions with closed eyes. Perfectly, absolutely content.

Then the phone rang.

He didn't think much of it, having gotten used to the little voice that told him to panic. The odds of it being a nasty call were so slim now, what with the merging of his family and Finn's. They could be calling for his father about the shop, it could be Carole's friends, it could be someone trying to reach Finn or him. After all, neither boy had checked their phones in the last hour. Maybe it was Mercedes calling? Kurt wondered for a moment if there was a sale he had forgotten about, and if she was calling to demand his presence at the mall.

"Hello?"

Finn's voice sounded a bit strained, as if he were trying to juggle all that he had taken from the fridge while he spoke.

"... What? Who the fuck is this?"

Kurt's eyelids parted. His head rolled to the side, turning toward the kitchen. A tiny, unmistakable little ember of worry sparked in the pit of his gut.

"Who the hell are you? If you got a problem with it, asshole, then why don't you go leap off a bridge?"

Kurt sat upright. Every word that left Finn's mouth fanned the ember of panic, making it grow bigger and hotter.

"Stop saying that! You don't even know him, you coward!"

"Finn," Kurt blurted, jumping to his feet. The fire took off, flaring up and making his chest feel tight. He was sliding into the kitchen in an instant, his socked feet struggling to find traction. "Finn, just hang up!"

"No," Finn replied stubbornly, glancing at Kurt for only a moment before setting the jar of mustard down hard among the other sandwich ingredients that he had dropped. "Listen, you prick, _you're_ the one with the problem! What, you're so unhappy about your own life that you have to pick on a kid to make you feel better?"

Kurt made a grab for the phone. "Finn, stop it! That won't help!"

The taller male dodged, easily turning away. His forearm held Kurt back, the conviction obvious on his face: after all Kurt's been through, Finn will not sit back and let someone trash him over the phone.

Kurt could hear a very tiny, angry voice over the receiver. _"There's the little faggot now! What, he too scared to stand up for himself?"_

"Why should he waste his time on your sorry ass?" Finn responded without giving it a second though. "You're pathetic!"

"Finn, hang up now!"

_"You just want his whore mouth all to yourself, huh? Disgusting freak, I oughta beat your ass. You think you can protect him forever? You think he's just gonna stroll around bein' a queer and no one will-"_

Suddenly, Kurt snagged the phone. Before Finn could fight for it, the shorter male pulled it away and pressed the red _End Call_ button. He took a quick step away from Finn, his eyes wide, almost teary.

For a long second, they stared at each other. Neither knew what to say, or how to say it. Kurt dropped the phone onto the counter like it was poison, turning his head away as the tears began to well upward and sit on his eyelashes, threatening to fall.

"... Has that happened before?" Finn asked suddenly, his voice quiet and full of guarded dread. Kurt blinked rapidly, a few tears sliding away down his cheeks. He was quick to wipe them away.

"It's stupid, they're just stupid. You just hang up, and then that's it. They're stupid."

Finn looked as though he had just witnessed the most disgusting, horrifying thing on earth. Kurt turned away, wiping his eye repeatedly and trying to monitor his breathing. Slowly, the elder started to shake his head.

"No, no fucking way. No one threatens my brother like that. I can't believe it. Why didn't I know that this happens?"

Kurt refused to respond at first, staring sullenly at the loaf of bread on the counter. Then, after a small breath, he leaned against the cabinets and closed his eyes.

"It's been happening since middle school. And-... It's too infrequent to really be a problem."

"Kurt, this is a _big_ problem. Call the police, get them to like, tap your line, or something! They can't get away with that shit!"

"Please calm down," Kurt responded softly. He couldn't make eye contact. After a pause, Finn took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders, trying to work the tension out of them. They stood in silence for a few minutes, staring at everything but each other, before the phone rang again. Both jumped, startled and horribly put off by the sound.

Slowly, Kurt reached for it. Finn moved to stop him before Kurt spoke.

"Caller ID says 'Dad'."

It rang twice more before Kurt handed it to Finn, silently telling him that he wasn't able to talk. Finn took it, staring at Kurt as he pressed the green button and lifted it to his ear.

"... Burt?"

_"Yeah, hey kiddo. Is Kurt there?"_

Finn looked at his step brother for a moment before taking a careful breath. "Uh, no. Well, yeah, but he's in the bathroom."

Kurt closed his eyes, nodding thankfully.

_"Well, alright. Just let him know that your mother and I had to change our plans. They were sold out for the eight o'clock show, so we'll be going to the nine-thirty. Will you guys be alright for the night?"_

Finn rolled his lips together, pressing them into a line before relaxing them. "Yeah, that's fine. We're just playing Mario."

_"Oh, really? I thought Kurt didn't like video games."_

"He's good at it," Finn replied absently, watching as Kurt pushed off the counter and stepped toward the fruit bowl by the fridge. He picked up a grapefruit and turned in search of a knife.

_"Well, I'm glad. We'll see you when we get back."_

"Okay. Enjoy the movie."

Quietly, Finn hung up. The little beep that signified the end of the call hung in the air between them for a good few seconds, heavy and painful, before Finn sighed.

"You gotta tell your dad."

Kurt nodded quietly, cutting into the pink fruit. "Yeah. I don't know how they got our new number..."

Finn just shook his head, finally calm enough to be rational about it. "It doesn't matter. We'll just... be super careful in the future. About answering the phone."

Kurt glanced up at him, giving him a small smile. He was half-way into the grapefruit before he stopped, his eyes dropping again. Finn stood, uncomfortable but unwilling to move, as Kurt sighed and pulled the knife from his unfinished job.

"... Actually, I think I'm going to go to bed."

Finn nodded, even though Kurt wasn't looking at him. He set the knife down and pulled open a nearby drawer, drawing out some clear-plastic wrap and wrapping the fruit like a mummy with it. He circled the island counter, put the fruit in the fridge, and looked up at Finn.

"... Thanks for standing up for me," he muttered, looking toward Finn with grateful eyes. The taller teen shook his head.

"Not a problem. At all."

Kurt just smiled a bit wider, suddenly looking tired. "... Well, alright. I'll see you in the morning then."

"Right."

And with that, Kurt left the kitchen. Finn listened to his socked footsteps until he couldn't hear them anymore. The silence was punctuated by one last noise as Kurt's bedroom door closed upstairs, and Finn was left in the total silence of the kitchen.

"... Cheesus."

-x-x-x-

Please review! Depending on the feedback, there may be another chapter or too. I have more of a plot in mind, but only if you guys actually care to read it! So let me know what you think!


	2. Ringing

AAAH I'm tired of this. I've re-written this four times, I think it's time I just post it. Sorry if there are any conventional/grammatical errors. I try to find them, but I always re-read things and find a million little problems.

Anyway, thanks for the feedback from the first chapter! I hope this sates some of your curiosity. I had two other ways this could go, but settled on this one. Here's to hoping that I made the right choice.

-x-x-x-

**The number you are trying to reach has been disconnected.**

Burt hadn't reacted the way Finn thought he would. Where he had expected anger, protectiveness, and a demand for justice, he found knowing sadness and silent, reluctant acceptance. Burt was a smart man, if not in books than in people; he had come to understand that there was little to be done about the phone calls.

"Do you know how they got our new number?" he had asked quietly, running a hand down his face. Finn briefly acknowledged that Kurt had wondered the same thing, but didn't mention it. When he shook his head no, Burt glanced down the hall to see that Carole had gone upstairs to bed. Then he sighed and turned his full attention to Finn, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"I know how you feel, Finn. The first time it happened, all I wanted to do was beat the guy's face in. But they're cowards, and unless they man up and come out of hiding, there's nothing we can do."

Finn had stumbled over his words. "There's gotta be _something_," he had insisted, fumbling for a coherent plan. "There has to be."

Burt only nodded, showing that he understood the feeling of defeat. "How's Kurt?"

Finn held his breath a moment before turning away, feeling the weight of Burt's hand on his shoulder. "He went to bed early. Didn't eat."

Burt's mouth flinched a bit, patting Finn's shoulder twice before letting his arm drop. "He does that. I'm sure by tomorrow morning, he'll be back on top."

Finn could only stare at the fridge, thinking about the half-cut grapefruit that sat inside.

-x-x-x-

"Green week," Rachel announced proudly, pounding the lump of clay onto the metal table. Kurt glanced at her with irritation evident on his face. Before she could continue, he looked back down at his own gray clay, rolling and smashing it against the table to get the air bubbles out.

Why did he have to have ceramics with her? He didn't hate her at any rate, but he was the only person for her to talk to in that class. And her voice got old fast.

"I'm so excited. I think, for Glee club, we should have a green theme too. And we could preform them outdoors, like in parks!"

She was rambling, lost in her own fantasies of preforming in front of adoring strangers. Kurt sighed and swallowed thickly; he had never gotten used to the dust in the air in the ceramics room. Surely it was bad for his skin, because every time he picked up clay, it seemed to leave his fingers with a million nasty little hangnails. He'd spend his next period filing his nails, preening and mourning over his abused hands.

"What have _you_ done this week?" Rachel was asking, nudging his arm with her elbow. Kurt glanced toward her again, appearing slightly less annoyed.

"Finn and I have been riding our bikes."

Rachel grinned. "Together? That's nice."

"Not really. The damn helmet ruins my hair, and the brakes on Finn's bike make a more annoying sound that you do."

Ignoring the playful jab, (that was playful, right?) Rachel pressed the heels of her palms into her own clay, working fast to catch up with the soprano.

"Well, it's better than that gas-guzzling SUV of yours. Anyway, the Glee idea. You and I should sing _Joy to the World_ by Three Dog Night, I think. You know, the old hippie one."

"Mm," he responded absently. Somehow, he felt a small sensation of dread seeping down his spine. With slightly-narrowed eyes, Kurt turned his attention out the window beside them, looking toward the street on the side of the school. There was no one there, only a few parked cars. As Rachel spoke, he studied them one at a time, unable to shake the feeling that someone was watching him.

"Or... Oh, what other songs are about nature? We should sing Cat Stevens, I think. Oh, Jack Johnson! He'd be perfect!"

Kurt's eyes slid across several more cars before coming to an old, black Volvo. The paint job had never been finished, it seemed, and the sides were dented all down it's length.

How strange that it didn't have a student-parking sticker. Cars that parked there were required to have one, weren't they?

"Kurt? You okay?"

He nodded, glancing toward her momentarily. It was all she needed to keep going, rattling away in his ear. He looked back out the window, and stopped.

For the first time, he noticed the man sitting in the black car. Staring back at him. There was a horribly silent moment, where Kurt couldn't hear anything; not Rachel, not the sound of potter's wheels turning, not the ventilator humming above him. Then the man turned the key in the ignition, pulled out of his spot, and vanished down the street.

Kurt suddenly felt cold.

-x-x-x-

"Dude, where have you been? I've been out here for like, ten minutes."

"Oh, _no_. Not ten minutes, that's _so_ unfair of me," Kurt replied sarcastically, strolling into the bike shed toward where Finn stood with Puck. The two taller boys grinned, neither concerned with how long they had been waiting. Puck stretched, running a hand over his mohawk.

"Well, I gotta go. I gotta 'clean' Ms Phillip's pool in an hour."

Finn grinned knowingly, fist bumping his long-time friend. Kurt rolled his eyes, giving Puck an understanding smile. In response, the self-proclaimed badass struck out his hand with every intention of ruining Kurt's hair, but the soprano dodged expertly.

"Not today, Noah. I'm going to the mall at five and I don't have time to fix it again."

"Whatever, dweeb," he responded, shrugging to convey his lack of care. They exchanged brief goodbyes before Kurt fished the key to his bike lock out of his pocket. Finn did the same, sighing.

"Long day, huh?"

"Did Rachel try to tell you about her green week ideas?"

The elder smiled. "Yeah, you too? It's all she was talking about today."

Kurt lifted the curly lock up and tucked it into his bag, pushing it around to his back before clipping the flap closed securely. They both yanked their bikes away from the rack, adjusting their bags so they'd be out of the way, before Finn lifted his helmet to his head.

"Aren't you going to wear yours?" he asked, clipping it under his chin. Kurt shook his head, lifting his leg over his bike and leaning back on the wide seat. He had had the same bike for years; a stunning red Electra with a tan leather seat. He had saved up for months back when he was ten, only accumulating about two hundred dollars, while the bike cost six hundred. His father hadn't said anything, instead convincing his son that he had saved up the right amount. Still, it was a beautiful spectacle. And if Kurt was going to do something as mundane as ride a bike, he was going to do it in style.

"I was serious about my hair," he replied, clipping his helmet around the strap of his messenger bag and letting it hang against his hip. Finn looked at him with mild concern.

"Really, man? You only have one brain."

"And one head of beautiful hair. We'll be fine, we just take backstreets the whole way home. There are never any cars."

Finn shrugged at this, acknowledging his reasoning to be true. The two step brothers kicked off, starting their journey home, peddling only a few feet apart. Finn rambled about his day, explaining some accident in science class where he let the moths escape. "They were _everywhere_," he insisted, waving one hand around as he laughed. "They might have to call an exterminator, though, because they got into the ceiling somehow."

Kurt responded only as much as he needed to so as to not convey worry. Finn rambled, straying from one subject to the next, before finally pivoting to look back at Kurt.

"How was _your_ day?" he drawled, chuckling a bit at his own story. Kurt glanced at him before his eyes went back to wandering around their surroundings.

"It was alright... A bit long."

Finn kept his eyes trained on his step brother. The incident with the phone had not left the front of his mind since it happened; in it's wake, Finn found himself much more tuned in to Kurt's moods. Despite his drama-queen nature, most of his serious emotions were much more subtle. Kurt wasn't such an easy book to read. But the distant look on his face rose a red flag.

"... You okay? Did something else happen?"

Kurt didn't look at him.

"Dude, if Karofsky is being a dick again, I'll kick his ass for you. And this time, _I'll _lead the charge."

"No, it's not him," Kurt responded after a second, lifting his head back up. "There was just... some guy was staring at me during fourth period."

Finn blinked. "... Oh... Oh! I um, I didn't know anyone else was... _out_ at this school."

Kurt's eyes narrowed with mild irritation. "No, Finn, not like that. There was someone sitting in a car, watching me from the street."

Finn's bike slowed, intentionally or not. His eyes locked on Kurt, no longer concerned with the cracks and potholes speckled around the street. Kurt tried to ignore him, unwilling to let Finn see the concern in his eyes, but part of him knew it was too late for that.

"... Like, creeper-staring?"

The younger sighed. "Yeah. Creeper-staring."

They reached a quiet intersection, where two small streets crossed. They had the right-of-way, and neither could hear a car coming in any direction. They thought nothing of peddling across.

"I mean, I'm sure I'm just blowing it out of proportion. But it was still-"

Something swerved into the intersection, directly in front of them. Kurt flinched: his eyes widened, his head jerked around. His fingers constricted around the breaks and pulled them taut. The wheels of his bike jerked to a stop, but the projectile motion pulled him forward over the handles. A sharp cry escaped his mouth before he hit the ground and rolled twice, coming to a swift stop.

He could _hear_ madness going on above him. It was fast, and over by the time he regained his equilibrium, but something else happened after he was flung from his bike. Carefully, Kurt lifted his head and groaned. His elbows pressed against the warm pavement, shoving his body up a few inches.

His head felt oddly heavy when he tried to lift it. "Finn," he said absently. The intersection tilted around him, tossing his weight back and forth as he swayed. "Finn."

There was a car parked about four feet from him. His bike was on it's side, unharmed, one wheel spinning. There was a small crumpled mess of metal under the front tire of the car, and after a moment of staring at it, Kurt recognized what it was.

"Finn!" He cried, shoving himself to his feet. His body ached, groaning in protest as he stumbled forward. Finn was no where to be seen, but that was definitely his bike all mangled up. So where was he?

Kurt didn't think twice before running around the front of the car. The hood was black and unfinished, but he hardly registered it; only the dent, where he immediately assumed Finn had hit the car.

Around the driver's side, Kurt skid to a brief halt. Finn was lying on his side, groaning and trying to get up. He was holding his shoulder, his face contorted in pain.

Kurt didn't remember making the few steps to Finn's side, but he must have. In the next instant, he had his hand on Finn's back. He was saying his name, trying to speak, but he was too dizzy. Something was dripping into his eye, making it harder and harder to keep it open.

"Finn, get up," he rasped, looking around at the houses around the intersection. No one was coming out to help.

"Agh-" Finn tried to speak, but chose to draw a deep breath. "It's okay, d-dude," he groaned. "Happens all the time in... football..."

"No, I-... Don't move, I'll call for help," Kurt rambled, rubbing at his eye to try and clear it. He leaned back, pulling his bag-still hugging his chest, what a loyal satchel-around so that he could fish his phone out. When he lowered his hand to reach for the pocket where he kept his phone, he saw the familiar smear of red along his fingers.

"Kurt!" Finn gasped. Kurt looked toward him, blinking in surprise. Finn's eyes were wide, a sharp contrast to how they had been so tight in pain. The soprano hardly had time to narrow his eyes in curiosity before he felt it.

Something large and strong wrapped around his middle. Finn fell away from him as he was lifted up off the ground, his phone slipping from his bloodied fingers and clattering to the pavement. He was pulled, too fast and too roughly, away from his brother. He was a good yard away before he even thought to make noise.

Where he had intended to form words, only a scream came out. Instinctively, Kurt's knees buckled beneath him so as to use his weight to his advantage. Whoever had grabbed him used it as an opportunity to be more rough, shaking him a bit before twisting and hurling him at the side of the car.

Air fled from his lungs with a single cry. Kurt's hands clutched at whatever they could grab, sliding down the side of the car before he forced himself around. Standing before him, strong and tan and wearing a stained white tank top, was a man he had never seen before.

"Is the little faggot gunna cry?" the man slurred, somehow smiling through that menacing sneer. Kurt's eyes widened, clutching the side of the car for support. His eyes snapped toward Finn, who was on his hand and knees now, his left arm curled in toward his stomach. He was trying to get up, but he looked too disoriented to struggle to his feet just yet.

The man noticed where Kurt was looking. "I told you ya' couldn't keep him safe forever," he barked toward Finn, his body still facing Kurt. "And now you're gunna found out what happens to homos in this town."

The words had hardly left his mouth before Kurt dove for his phone. This couldn't be happening; he wasn't going to be the victim. He had imagined this scenario before, always with a few neanderthals who thought they were macho enough to take on a Hummel. He would outsmart them, or kick one hard enough to scare the other's off. They were all cowards, at least in his mind. That, or his dad was there. Or Finn.

Finn. Kurt hit the ground, his fingers grabbing up his phone his a haze. Finn moved toward him and stumbled some, slumping a bit to the ground before his hand reached out. Kurt flashed his eyes toward the man, who was moving to dive towards him. He looked back. His hand jutted out from under him, shoving the phone into Finn's range.

Then the man grabbed him by the back of the jacket and hoisted him clear off the ground. For a terrible moment, Kurt was weightless. Air filtered through his hair as he was thrown, before his head met the side of the car, and a silent black enveloped him.

For a moment, there was nothing. Not even a sense of who he was, until sounds started to return. They were sloppy, and muffled, but they were sounds. A crack, _faggot_, a scream, _goddamn queer_. Then a gasp, and suddenly, the awkward voices escalated. He heard a deep cry of anger. Light began to appear to him again, slowly revealing the street, the evening sunlight, and a mad wrestle of fists and bitter words beside him. Painfully, he rolled himself onto his side. A fist lifted into the air and swung back down.

"_-goddamn ignorant son of a bitch-_"

Distant shouting. Footsteps. More madness, as two strangers shoved their arms into the tussle and somehow pulled Finn out, shoving him in Kurt's direction. He looked seething mad, in pain, and terrified. Kurt closed his eyes for a minute and tried to get up, but a searing pain kept him on the ground.

"Kurt," Finn said. The soprano felt a hand on his shoulder. "Jesus, I-... I'm right here. Hold on."

He opened his eyes. Finn's face was about a foot from his. His cheeks were flushed.

"I'm sorry," he was saying. "I'm sorry."

-x-x-x-

Okay! Well, I'll be honest, this took on a life of its own. And now I have to deal with a touchy-feely healing chapter. (I've been writing a lot of those for different things, lately.) But I'll crank something out, because it'd be uncool to leave it at this. I have no idea if it'll be long or short, either. But I guess we'll find out?

Thanks for all the reviews and feedback!


	3. Click

Well, here's to daylight-saving time: screwing up **perfectly reasonable **sleep schedules since 1918. Thanks, Benjamin Franklin. Thanks.

Anyway, I finally managed to piece together a few more scenes. I'm afraid the writing quality is a bit lax, since I've been writing in a semi-conscious state. But this story is becoming an animal; I'm starting to feel a longer plot grow. So, if you're not on board for that, stop me now? D:

Otherwise, enjoy. And thanks for all the awesome feedback!

-x-x-x-

**If you would like to make a call, please enter the number you are trying to reach.**

He had regained some level of consciousness before the ambulance arrived. He sat beside Finn on the curb, both of them holding an arm to their torsos. One of the neighbors who had rushed out at the sound of Kurt screaming had popped Finn's shoulder back into its socket and splinted it with a triangular bandage. The other-his wife, Karen-had held a sweater to Kurt's head to stem the blood flow. Other neighbors had come out then, standing on their lawns and looking on with a sense of morbid curiosity.

Kurt rested his head on Finn's good shoulder and closed his eyes. His own arm was starting to swell, broken somewhere along his forearm. It throbbed heavily. His chest ached. His stomach was shaking, frail from being kicked there at least once; he hadn't kept count. His head was heavier than he had ever thought possible.

Despite the pain, the most pungent feeling was Finn's shoulder. He could feel his brother's muscles tense, could feel his warmth, could smell that awkward combination of Axe body wash and maple syrup. The sirens were fast approaching, and both boys knew that the brief moment of contact wouldn't last. Finn turned his head toward Kurt and sighed, watching his breath gently ruffle the loose strands of Kurt's hair.

He opened his mouth to speak, but there was nothing waiting on the tip of his tongue. What was he supposed to say after that? After being hit-no, _attacked_-by a car, what words could he possibly string together to comfort the smaller male? He tried, Lord _help_ him he tried, but nothing came to mind.

And then the sirens were upon them, and the opportunity was lost.

-x-x-x-

"Just walk us through what you remember. Start wherever you feel is necessary and try to be detailed."

Finn nodded stiffly, adjusting his posture while trying not to move his arm. The sling that wrapped around his neck felt as if it were digging into his flesh, between his vertebrae. Since when were arms so heavy to hold up?

"Okay. Um..." His eyes flashed toward Burt, who was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. He looked absolutely exhausted, pissed, and apprehensive of what he was about to hear.

He had held that expression since the moment Finn saw him rush into the emergency room two days ago.

"Well, I guess it started on Tuesday night. _Last_ Tuesday night," he specified, trying to fulfill the officer's request for detail. He looked around without actually seeing anything, trying to think of exactly what he was saying.

"Kurt and I were home alone, because mom and Burt were on a date. And everything was going totally awesome. We were playing Mario Kart, and-that's a racing game, by the way-and Kurt was actually really good, even if he was playing a girl character. But he was beating me, which was cool, but then, it wasn't, cause I was losing and I'm _way _better at that game then him-"

"Son, please stick to the _important_ details."

The man leaning against the desk gave him a patient, but professional on-task look. Finn felt his cheeks redden some before he nodded.

"Right, sorry. Um... I got up to get something to eat, and the phone rang. So I answered, because I was there. And the second I said hello, this guy started to talk shit about Kurt."

Again, he felt heat rise to his face. Swearing in front of a cop; probably a bad idea. "I mean, sorry. For swearing. Um."

"It's alright."

Finn closed his mouth stupidly and looked over at Burt, who gave him a little nod. Sighing, the teenager looked down at his lap and chewed his lip for a minute.

"First he said that my son was a... fag. So he probably though I was Burt. But even when I told him to jump off a bridge, he just kept going. Railing on about the Bible and Hell and stuff, and saying that Kurt should be punished. Or, taught a lesson, or something."

Burt's gaze dropped to the floor, and a hand came up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He held it, shielding his eyes from view before he took a deep breath and looked back up, somewhat more composed. A pang of guilt swept through Finn's gut; this was so hard for Burt to hear, why did he have to be the one telling him?

"Was he making physical threats against Kurt?"

Removing his eyes from Burt, Finn instead focused on the golden name plate sitting on the desk. _Officer Schroeder_.

"... Yes. More than once. He also said that we couldn't protect him forever. But Kurt got the phone away from me before he could say anything else, and he hung up right away."

"Did you tell anyone about this phone call?"

Finn nodded towards his step-father. "Yeah, when Burt got home."

"It's happened before," the eldest Hummel supplied, finally speaking. "The phone calls. Cops could never do anything about 'em, I didn't think this would become anything."

Officer Schroeder nodded, pushing off of his desk and circling it before sitting down in a plush leather chair facing the two of them.

"Is there anything else you can tell me?"

Finn was quiet for a minute, fingering the hem of the blue sling that held his arm so tight to his chest. Was there? After than phone call, things had been pretty normal. Kurt seemed to hit the ground running the morning after it happened, and didn't seem upset about it. In fact, he was his normal self the whole week until...

"Actually, there is," he said after a moment's pause. "Right before it happened. We were riding beside each other, and he was really distracted. When I asked him why, he said some guy was watching him earlier. Like, from outside. Sitting in his car, or something."

Burt's head had snapped up. Officer Schroeder had elevated his eyebrows in interest, and after a second of silence, leaned forward.

"Did he tell you anything else?"

Finn shook his head. "No. Only that it was, like, _really_ creepy."

The man nodded and turned his head toward Burt, who stared at Finn. He looked a bit sick.

"Sir, do you know how soon we can speak with Kurt?"

"Soon," Burt replied absently. "I'll call Carole now, see if Kurt is awake. If that son of a bitch was stalking my kid, I'm gunna-"

He was out the door and around the corner. Finn stood, moving to go after him, but the officer held up his hand.

"It's alright, he's just going to use the phone. Thank you for sharing your side of the story, son."

Reluctantly, but too tired and disturbed to do anything else, Finn sank back into the seat. Burt's words echoed in the front of his mind on a loop, so loud and clear that it was as if the man was behind him, repeating himself.

_Stalking my kid_.

-x-x-x-

New Directions had learned of the news not through Finn, Kurt, or their parents, but Jacob Israel. In his usual lurking manner, he had slipped through the door of the choir room and was immediately confronted by Puck.

"What do _you_ want, you little creep?" In his muscular, mohawked might, Puck stood with his arms crossed over his chest, glaring down at the afro beneath his nose.

"W-wait, wait, I come bearing news!"

Rachael leaned around Puck's right arm, throwing the both of them an annoyed look. "_None_ of the Glee girls are doing 'private interviews' with you no matter _how_ you prompt us. Get out of here."

Puck took a step forward, itching to snag the intruder by the front of the shirt and shove him out the door. Jacob looked nervously between the two of them, shrinking back into himself a bit. A short amount of tension built up between his shoulder blades before he cracked.

"Kurt and Finn were attacked," he offered, watching as the emotion fell from Rachael's face, and then Pucks. Quinn stood up from the plastic chair she was in. The rest of the club was suddenly silent.

"... What?" Rachael stepped quickly around Puck. "What do you mean?"

Jacob adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "Well, now that you've mentioned those interviews-"

Puck's fingers wrapped around the front of his shirt, yanking him forward dangerously. His knuckles were white.

"_Talk_, dweeb," he growled. Sam stepped forward, intending to put a hand on Puck's shoulder to calm him. When he saw the look on Israel's face, however, he held back some. After a brief shudder, Israel spoke.

"I-I'm not t-telling until he p-puts me down!"

Reluctantly, Puck lowered Jacob down until the bottoms of his sneakers brushed the floor. Very slowly, he released his shirt from his fists, making a point of holding eye contact as he did so. Jacob swallowed; the second Puck looked away, he realized he had been all but surrounded by the rest of New Directions. Mercedes had moved between Puck and Rachael, staring at him with hard eyes.

"That's not something you joke about, Jacob," she said evenly. Despite her composure, the spark of panic was evident in her eyes. Like the rest of her friends, she was trying to tell whether or not Jacob was lying.

"Well, no, but it's true," he began in a know-it-all tone that stood to defend his claim. "The police were a few blocks away from my house, I went to see for myself. There was some black car in the middle of the intersection, and Finn's bike under the tire, and Kurt's beside it. A-and they were arresting some guy who was trying to run, it was awesome!"

"How the hell do _you_ know what their bikes look like?" Puck snapped, his fingers twitching back into fists. If there was one person who he couldn't stand-no matter how many humbling experiences he had had since he had joined Glee club-it was Israel. The kid was a creep without any redeeming qualities, and had no respect for anyone but himself.

"I-I've been parking my bike next to Kurt's since the eighth grade," Jacob shrugged, his beady eyes darting from one face to the next, trying to determine the level of danger around him. "A-a-and Finn's been parking his bike in my spot since the beginning of the week."

"Green week," Rachael muttered under her breath. "They're both riding their bikes to school."

A kind of static shot through the group, hitting everyone but Jacob. They all stiffened a bit, exchanging uneasy glances. None of them really wanted to believe it.

"I bet it's because Hummel's a queer, though," Jacob supplied suddenly, breaking the brief, heavy silence. "I mean in this little cow town, it's only a matter of time before someone attacks him for it-"

It was the only excuse Puck needed. His fists snatched up the front of Jacob's shirt again, shoving him back a few feet before he collapsed and fell to the ground. As Puck started forward to set in on attack, Sam and Mike caught him.

"Don't you talk about my boy like that, you freakin' creep! Get the fuck outta here!"

As Jacob scurried-no, _flailed_-up onto his feet and out the one door, a voice echoed toward them from the other. Only half of the New Directions turned to see Mr Schuester enter the choir room from the band hallway.

"What are you guys doing?" Concern was showing on his face; he had picked up on the tense air that hung around the group. In an uncharacteristic act of shock, Rachael just mouthed at him silently. It was Brittany that stepped forward.

"Jacob says Kurt and Finn were attacked by bikes."

-x-x-x-

But wait, what about Kurt? And what about the mysterious homophobic asswipe who attacked him and Finn? _Why do I insist on _not_ writing the parts that matter_?

Well, at least there's another chapter in the future. Until then, thanks for all the reviews!


	4. Hang Up

I don't know how professional authors do it-the more time I spend editing and working on a chapter for this story, the less linear it feels. But no one seemed to mind with the last chapter, or even notice. So it's probably all in my own head…

Progress! This chapter has progress! I love writing chapters where important things happen, they're so much more interesting than filler chapters. But, instead of spoiling anything by continuing to rant, I'll let you read. Thanks for coming back!

Enjoy!

-x-x-x-

**We're sorry, the number you have entered is out of service or incomplete.**

Rainwater drained from his head, a cold gray mirth that ran slowly down from his forehead and out his ears. Gradually, he began to notice sounds and colors, light filtering through his closed eyelids. The air that passed between his parted lips was warm and dry. He felt soft, smooth fabric against the side of his face, and sticky, tight bandages across his forehead.

Kurt opened his eyes. His comforter was tucked up around him, almost exactly the way Carole had left it when she was coddling him a few hours earlier. Afternoon sunlight was filtering in under the curtains, racing across the floor toward the side of his bed. His room was dim, and smelled so familiar that he almost thought he was dreaming.

Until, of course, he tried to roll over. A numb burning sensation swelled in his chest and along his abdomen, returning him quickly to the position he had been in on his back. A thin moan escaped his throat, and for a moment, he lay with his eyes shut tight. _Ow,_ that freaking _hurt_. Mentally, he scratched 'movement' off of his list of Things To Do.

But why had he woken up? He could remember Carole telling him to sleep until he couldn't, and he still felt plenty tired. The pain medication they had prescribed to him at the hospital was supposed to make him sleepy, wasn't it? So what had disturbed his _obviously necessary_ beauty sleep?

The room was, and far as he could tell, empty. He rolled his head toward the window again, staring at the curtains as they swayed gently in the wind. The window was open; maybe that was it? Some sound from outside had woke him up. That sounded fair.

_Tnk_.

Kurt blinked.

_Tnk_.

Stiffly, he tried to lift his head from the pillow to better his vantage point. Something was hitting his window, like a pebble. There was a moment of silence before he dropped his head back down, staring at the curtains curiously. What _was_ that?

Suddenly, the curtain jerked, and a small rock rolled to the floor beneath the window. It was black in the afternoon sunlight, and rugged like something from the side of a road rather than a garden.

_Blaine_, a little voice whispered in the haze of his mind. It was irrational, but he hardly registered the unlikeliness; once he had thought it, it became the only explanation. Kurt had always been a bit of a helpless romantic: his father must have forbidden visitors until further notice, and surely Blaine couldn't wait to see him, to make sure he was alright. He didn't take into account that Blaine probably didn't even know about the attack yet, or if he had, why he would think coming through the window was a smart idea.

But the idea of his crush doing something so cliché as to throw pebbles at his window... he pushed passed the discomfort and moved his legs over the side of the bed. His torso didn't hurt as much as it had the first time he moved, and very slowly, he stood. The plush carpet pressed between his bare toes as he made cautious steps toward the window, a little smile pushing onto his face. His muscles shook some, tired and not yet ready to be put to work. But it was worth it to see Blaine, wasn't it? To lean out his window and smile down at him, tell him he was alright, will him away to come visit tomorrow. Surely, that was worth it.

Kurt wrapped his fingers around the cream fabric of the curtain and lifted it out of the way, hoping to appear elegant despite his obvious handicaps. He squinted into the sun before his eyes adjusted, and he looked down.

The window had been opened half way, just enough for fresh air to get in and stale air to get out. The yard below was green, and alive, and all too colorful compared to the color scheme Kurt had chosen for his new room. For a brief moment, he imagined himself on a balcony, with Blaine extending a hand up toward him.

The illusion was almost immediately broken. Standing where Blaine _should_ have been was, in fact, _not_ Blaine. The man did not have his loving eyes, his knowing smile, his familiar eyebrows. The smile he wore was bitter, insulting. He was missing a tooth from the upper row of his mouth, and his clothing was stained with what looked like-to Kurt's conditioned eye, at least-motor oil. He was holding a brick.

"Get the message yet, faggot?" he called, before taking a half-step back and drawing his arm behind himself. Kurt's eyes widened at the shock of seeing someone so familiar to the man who had attacked him, but before he could move, the brick was launched up to his window.

Kurt shoved away in time to see it hit the pane. The glass bent inward a bit, and for a moment Kurt thought the brick would bounce off; no damage done, _jokes on you, douche._ But in the next instant, a crack shot out in every direction, and the panel of glass shattered into his room.

Kurt may or may not have screamed.

-x-x-x-

It wasn't that he didn't _like_ tomato soup, but it tasted exactly like tomato sauce when his mother made it, and every sip made him think of the pasta he wasn't eating. And that craving would inevitably distract him from enjoying his food, and then he wouldn't be satisfied when he was done, and would have to ask his mom to make pasta. And she almost always said no.

So Finn stuck with the grilled cheese, and turned down its faithful companion side dish. He was satisfied with the way the cheese melted and got stringy when he pulled the two halves apart, ignoring his mother's ageless request for him to not play with his food.

"You're going to be a terrible hypocrite when you have kids," she muttered, returning her eyes to the BLT sandwich she had fixed for herself. Finn ignored the comment, thinking fleetingly that he'd make a _great_ father. At least once he had kids of his own, they could play with their food together. But he didn't dare say it; the last time he had, Carole had brought up the Quinn thing with some vague comment about second chances, and Kurt had claimed to 'fear the day you produce any kind of offspring'.

Not that he really minded either comment; he had the familiar comfort of a gooey grilled cheese to get him through it. Only, it was easier to pull the two pieces apart when he had two hands to do it; when one arm was bound to his body with a sling and an elbow brace, it got decidedly more difficult. And besides, he was too hungry to really spend that much time playing with it.

He was testing his left-handed grip on his glass of milk when they heard a crash and a shout from upstairs. Both of them blinked, looking up from the table and exchanging blank looks before they realized that it was Kurt who had made the noise. In the next instant, both Carole and Finn were on their feet, out of the kitchen, and heading up the stairs. Finn had never seen his mother fly like that, as if her feet weren't even on the ground. He fell behind her without realizing it.

Kurt's room was dark, and warm, and smelled nice. Finn had hardly been in there since they moved, and was struck not by the glass on the floor by the window, but how absolutely _comfortable_ that bed looked. And then he saw Kurt, sitting on the floor beside it. Holding his stomach, and staring at the window with wide eyes.

Carole faltered for a moment before moving toward Kurt, kneeling beside him. "Sweetie," she implored, "are you alright? What happened?"

Finn stood there for a silent moment, watching his step-brother. Kurt was particularly still, staring at the brick lying before him with wide eyes. He kept pressing his lips together, trying to decide if he wanted to speak.

Quietly, Carole draped an arm around his shoulders. Her hand moved over his chest, fanning her fingers out over the front of his blue t-shirt. It was something she had always done with Finn, be it because of a fever or a scraped knee; she always wanted to feel his heart beat. Finn had always figured it was a comfort to her, to know that despite the tears, her son was still alive and well. Maybe it still had something to do with his dad. Regardless, Finn felt a small warmth in his chest as he watched his mother turn that same affection toward Kurt.

"What happened?" she asked again, this time in a more hushed tone. Kurt finally willed himself to look away from the brick, and turned his glassy eyes toward her. His voice was hushed and whiny.

"Another... A-another guy, he was down there. He threw a brick at me."

Finn stepped forward and stooped to pick up the brick. It felt heavier than he remembered them being, somehow. When he glanced back toward his mother and step brother, Kurt and buried his face into Carole's shoulder. She was hugging him gently, minding his bruises and cuts.

"Finn, call the police," she said quietly. He found the urgency in her voice to be eerie, the words sounding heavy and cold. After swallowing hard, Finn nodded and looked around the room for the phone dock that sat on Kurt's bedside table. It took two big steps to reach it.

As he dialed and lifted the phone to his ears, Finn turned the brick over in his hands, studying it. In almost the same instant the operator picked up, he spotted the black sharpie handwriting on the underside of the brick.

_FAG IS SIN_

Finn didn't hear the operator until the third time she requested a response.

-x-x-x-

I _warned_ you guys that this thing might turn into a monster. And now we know that the asshole who attacked Finn and Kurt the first time wasn't acting alone, huh? So what the hell is going on?

Thanks for all the awesome reviews! It's so inspiring to hear that you guys like this story!


	5. Dead Air

Huzzah! Let's see how many times I can bypass the school's security filter before they realize I'm up to something.

Okay, I know just about everyone does this in just about every multi-chapter fic, but **thank you all so much**! I get so many alerts, favs and reviews every time I update, it's incredible. And you're all so damn nice! It's almost like there's good in people after all. :U (jk.) I'm really glad you guys like this story, and I hope I don't let you down by ruining it in later chapters. (I hereby promise to do my best **not** to sabotage my own story.)

Anyway, here you go again.

-x-x-x-

**If you would like to leave a message, please wait until the beep.**

"Remember that time we went to the zoo, and the fog machine in the bat cave made my hair all frizzy?"

Kurt rolled his face into the soft, familiar pillow case and closed his eyes, trying to picture the glass walls that had surrounded him, the bats hanging from ropes on the other side. He could see the bananas and broccoli stalks suspended by strings for them to eat. The smell was so easy to recall.

"You smoothed it down for me while I pressed my face against the glass, like some cartoon character," he chuckled softly, feeling the smallest speckle of a tear in his left eye. Squeezing his eyelids together until it hurt, Kurt drew a breath and rolled over under the blankets, minding the stiff ache that his right arm had been reduced to.

"I guess I still like bats, even if people find them revolting. I told Blaine, you know. He thought it was funny, because I don't seem like a bat person, but... They're kinda cute. In a weird way."

Kurt opened his eyes and sniffled some, staring at the old mahogany bureau beside his father's bed. The quiet, empty room that surrounded him was darkened by the drawn curtains, as Burt Hummel was not a man to take unnecessary risks. It smelled different than it used to, no longer the familiar scent of Old Spice. Now it was a blend of his father and Carole: Carole's perfumes, Carole's clothes, Carole's shampoo. None of them were bad smells, but they just... they weren't _his_ mother.

"I still need to tell Blaine what happened. He gets back from his trip in two days, so he'll find out then anyway, but... I know I should tell him before that." Kurt was silent for a moment, thinking about what he had just said. "... Or, maybe not. Maybe that would just ruin the rest of his trip. He was really looking forward to it, anyway."

He fell to silence, contemplating the problem he now faced. There was no chance of his father letting him use the house phone except to speak to the police, and his cell phone was...

He narrowed his eyes. Where had his phone ended up? He had all but forgotten about it after he shoved it toward Finn during the attack. Had the police took it?

"Kurt?"

His eyes opened at the sound of his name, spoken in the familiar tone only his father could use. Stiffly, Kurt rolled around and lifted his nose to see over the folds of the blanket. Burt looked back, a tired smile on his face.

"You okay, kiddo?"

Somehow, Kurt got onto his back and pushed the blankets down some. "Yeah. I'll be alright."

"Talkin' to your mom?" the man inquired, stepping into the dark room and closing the door behind him. He nodded toward the bureau that Kurt had been facing. His son sighed and moved to sit up, but the look he received successfully changed his mind. Burt sat down beside him, shifting the mattress under his weight. He looked at the dresser against the wall and sighed, pulling his baseball cap off of his head and wringing it between his work-hardened hands.

Kurt watched his dad with sad, knowing eyes. There were only a select few phrases his father could repeat when the subject of his mother came up. '_She'd be so proud of you_'_, _'_You're just like her, you know?_', and '_She'd want you to be happy_'. But there didn't seem to be one for this particular occasion, and Kurt didn't want to watch his father flounder for the right words.

"It's alright, dad."

"No, it's not," Burt sighed, shaking his head. "It's not alright, Kurt. Look at you."

Kurt opened his mouth to reply, only to find he couldn't. _I'm fine_, he wanted to say, _really._ But the man was right; things _weren't_ okay. For all his stubborn bravery in the halls of McKinley, Kurt was terrified: this wasn't a bully that could be dealt with by talking to the principal. The man who had hit Finn with his car, the guy who had thrown a brick at his window... They couldn't be expelled, or transferred. Kurt couldn't hide from them when they knew where he _slept_ at night, for God's sake. And that horrified him.

Burt had collected himself again, now facing his son rather than the bureau. Carefully, he placed a hand on his shoulder and gave him a little squeeze. "Finn's happy to have you stay in his room. Will that be alright?"

Kurt nodded without a second thought. Sharing a room with Finn meant not being alone at night. Besides, Finn had pulled a thug off of him with a dislocated arm. Any time with Finn meant safety.

And safety was exactly what he needed now.

-x-x-x-

"I smell pot roast," Mercedes commented with a cautious smile, sliding her jacket off of her arms. It vanished from behind her, swept up by Carole as the woman moved through the small group, collecting their coats quickly.

"My famous recipe," she smiled, ushering Mercedes, Tina and Rachael into the living room. They all stood beside the coffee table, too unsettled by the atmosphere of the Hummel-Hudson house to sit down right away.

"This room is lovely," Rachael commented, smiling approvingly at the furnishings. Carole hung the last coat on the rack in the front-hall closet and grinned.

"All Kurt. He managed to use most of the furniture we already had, too."

The girls nodded knowingly, expecting nothing less out of their design-oriented friend. "Is he upstairs?" Mercedes motioned toward the staircase, her eyes hopeful.

"Yep, he's in Finn's room. You can go see if he's ready for dinner." She turned with a motherly smile towards Tina and Rachael. "Would you girls mind helping me with setting the table?"

They agreed politely, watching from the corners of their eyes as Mercedes vanished up the stairs. She had been to the house more times than either of them, and knew her way around. From the top of the stairs, the first room on the right was Kurt's. The door was closed, and a big 'X' made out of yellow caution tape crossed the white wooden paneling. Mercedes bit the inside of her lip as she walked by, curious as to what was hidden in her best friend's room.

Bathroom, guest room, Finn's room. Two muffled voices were talking inside. Carefully, she knocked on the door. "Kurt?"

The talking was abruptly silence, followed by the sound of someone moving off of a bed. Three footsteps later, the knob turned and Kurt appeared.

She could have cried at the sight of him. Not out of shock or sadness, but relief; even hearing that he was alright, alive and still telling people to leave his hair alone, she couldn't believe it. She had to see him. And standing there in his sunglasses t-shirt, with plaid pajama pants and cover-up _almost _concealing a bruise on his cheek, he looked just as fabulous to her as he always did. Her arms were around him before he had time to process her presence, and through a grunt of pain, he laughed.

"Hi, Cedes," he almost sang, his good arm hugging her back.

"Oh baby, I'm so glad you're okay! I'm gunna _kill_ those ignorant, hateful, ugly mother-"

"Boys, dinner!"

Carole's intrusion from downstairs caught the girl just before she could swear, and she stopped. Her cheeks warmed a bit, glancing over her shoulder to make sure that Carole hadn't been there to hear her narrowly-avoided slip up. Kurt laughed a bit, and stepped aside.

"One minute," another voice-much closer-called. Mercedes turned her attention back into the unfamiliar room and smiled at Finn, who stood from his desk chair.

"Hey Finn. Are you alright? Jesus, look at your arm!"

"I'm fine," he smiled, giving her an awkward little wave with his good hand. "I smell pot roast."

"And it smells good," Mercedes agreed, giving Kurt a hopeful smile. "Can we go eat? I'll help you down the stairs."

The comment seemed to make Kurt hesitate, if only for a fraction of a second. He was independent to a fault, and the idea of needing help still hadn't really settled into his mind. But this was Mercedes, and she was right; with his chest the way it was, he had to be careful going down the steps.

"Rachael and Tina are here too," she was saying, moving aside for Finn to pass through. "We brought desert and a movie."

"Ah, Girl's Night," Kurt said thankfully, stepping out of the room and flipping off the light behind him. He looped his arm around Mercedes, leaning more heavily on her than usual as they started down the hall. "Tina could help me figure out how to cover this nasty bruise."

A few feet head of them-driven by the insatiable need for his mother's pot roast-Finn felt a pang of happiness swell where dread usually resided. Girl's Night meant the living room was full of the Glee girls, who, while fine at school, were loud and laughed a lot about male actors he had never heard of. They left the house smelling like perfume, and ate all the good junk food. Normally, Finn hated Girl's Night. He hated feeling awkward in his own house.

But now, it meant Kurt was okay. There was a special security in having familiar faces nearby. So Finn didn't say anything, and swung into the kitchen with a smile to greet Tina and Rachael (which was only a little awkward, because the air between he and Rachael was still uneasy).

But hey, pot roast.

-x-x-x-

Burt wrung his hands, clammy from all the dishes that he had volunteered to do. Somewhere above his head, the rest of his family slept. It was late, after all, only seven minutes until the clock in the living room struck midnight. He heaved a sigh and leaned back against the island counter, tossing the washcloth into the sink across from him.

It was strange, waking up in a new house. He had only moved twice before in his life, once to a small apartment with his first wife when they had just married, and again into the house that Kurt had grown up in. He was used to cleaning that old kitchen, used to vacuuming that old cream rug, used to the memories. This house had no memories yet, other than the ones of unpacking. And while it was liberating to be free of his wife's ghost, part of him missed it.

He could only imagine how Kurt felt. Knowing that his son still spoke to that old bureau as if his mother were trapped inside was both comforting and heart breaking. Burt rarely caught him doing it, because Kurt would only ever try when he was sure no one was around to hear him.

Briefly, Burt wondered how his deceased wife would have reacted to all of this. Would she be as scared as he was, or would she still manage to be the emotional rock, like she always had? The one who was level-headed and rational even in the worst of times. Even when Kurt broke his wrist from falling out of that old tree, or when they thought the garage was going to go under.

He was quick to change his train of thought. No good could come out of it other than feeding his own self-pity, and he needed to be strong for his son. For Carole, who was handling the whole thing so graciously, being there for all of them, putting herself second. And for Finn.

Finn. Burt felt a swell of pride wash through his chest at the thought of his step-son. Finn had gotten up after being _hit by a car_, and yanked a guy twice his size off of Kurt. He had beaten the crap out of the bastard too, Burt thought fondly. Even with a dislocated arm, limp and painful. If Finn hadn't, who knew what kind of damage that guy would have done to Kurt. Burt shuddered to think.

Beside the coffee maker, the phone rang. The shrill noise startled Burt from his thoughts, his eyes looking wearily toward the little glowing screen. From his position against the island counter, he could just read the caller I.D.:

_'Officer Schroeder'_

Burt shoved off of the counter and grabbed up the phone in two heartbeats. "Hello?" he answered, perhaps a little too desperately.

_"Mr Hummel?"_ the familiar, authoritative voice inquired.

"Yes," he replied, almost impatiently. What kind of news could the officer have that was so important for him to call at this hour?

_"I'm sorry to disturb you this late, but we've discovered the identity of the individual who threw the brick at your son's window."_

"You caught him?" Burt sounded all too hopeful.

_"No, I'm afraid not. But he's working with White, the man who was behind the initial attack. We got him to give a name."_

Burt's eyebrows sank from their elevated state. "But you don't know where he is?"

_"Not yet, no. But because of this development, I've ordered a squad car to circle your neighborhood for the next forty-eight hours. As a precaution. I wanted to let you know."_

Somewhere inside Burt's chest, between his love for his son and his pride for Finn, he felt relief. "... Alright. Thank you so much, officer."

_"Of course. Have a good night."_

"You too. Call me with any updates?"

_"I'll do what I can."_

And just like that, the call was over. Burt pressed the end call button carefully, setting the phone back into its dock with a sense of finality. At least for tonight, he felt his family would be safe. That was enough for now.

-x-x-x-

Fun fact: my chapter titles are totally irrelevant at this point.

Also: I'm running out of chapter title ideas.


	6. Disconnect

Happy Earth Day! (And/or belated Earth Day, for those of you who were doing the right thing by being outside to enjoy it.) This story takes place during and around Earth Week, which doesn't actually matter in the slightest, but I figured I would update today to celebrate. Sorry if my absence annoyed anybody, normally I have no excuse for tardiness. My senior schedule is _super_ easy. But you know, all that college crap to deal with. Really sucks away free time.

So yeah! Here's another chapter to chew on while I plot out the next bit. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go hiking and enjoy the sunshine.

-x-x-x-

**For more options, dial '0' now.**

The first few nights were the worst. No matter how he would position himself, no matter how quiet it was, Kurt could not sleep. He was sore, his arm would throb, his head would ache. The fear and anxiety of another attack would haunt him as he drifted toward sleep, and keep him awake through the night. Even if the mattress beneath him was from his own bed, and even if Finn was seven feet away, it wasn't enough. Kurt was terrified.

With time, however, the panic began to ebb away. Each night he managed to get more sleep, and after the second night, he had found a relatively comfortable position to sleep in. He became more aware of Finn's presence, and found a greater deal of comfort in having him there.

And Finn said nothing about it. Despite his history of being adamantly against sharing a room with Kurt, he now seemed to think it was the only logical sleeping arrangement. He'd want to know when Kurt was going to come to bed, or if Kurt would be okay with him keeping his reading light on for a while longer. He asked to borrow a pillow when his flattened out. One night when all the lights were off, and they were both floundering in thoughts of how quickly their worlds had changed, Finn cleared his throat.

"Do you think Rachael is cool?"

Kurt had been startled by this. The last time he had had a conversation with someone in a dark room was Blaine, after their movie had ended. The memory was oddly vivid, and he felt awkward talking to Finn while Blaine's voice swirled in his head.

"Um... Yeah, I guess. She's... Rachael."

"Yeah," Finn replied, sounding perhaps more fond that Kurt would have expected. They lapsed into silence again, this time awkward because of Finn's intrusion. Kurt stared up at the dark ceiling, running his fingers over a bruise on his chest.

"Why do you ask?"

Finn sounded as though he had been startled out of his thoughts. "Oh. Um. Well, I was just wondering, because you two are a lot more alike than you'd think."

"Gee, thanks."

"I don't mean it as an insult," Finn said through a knowing smile. "I just... Think it's cool. That you two get along and stuff."

Kurt narrowed his eyes, forgetting for a moment that his facial expressions did nothing to aid conversation in the dark. "I don't even want to know where your mind is right now, Finn."

"How's Blaine?"

Kurt jerked a bit, so startled to hear Finn say his name that he couldn't speak for a moment. "_What_?"

Finn shifted under his blankets. "Well, I'm thinking about Rachael, and how we dated, and than we didn't, and I _like_her but it's really complicated, you know? And then I guess I'm thinking about you and stuff because I'm talking to you, and when I think about dating and you at the same time, I think of Blaine."

"No one said we were dating."

It was perhaps too quick, and too nervous. Kurt shifted, burying his head under his blanket for a moment and wishing he had just ignored it. After all, it wasn't Finn's fault that he didn't know. Kurt hadn't told anyone but Mercedes that he and Blaine were dating.

"... Wait. What does that mean?"

"Nothing. Go to sleep, Finn. You start school again tomorrow."

"Are you and Blaine dating?"

Silence. After a pause, Finn rolled over again, and neither spoke for the rest of the night.

-x-x-x-

He could remember cruising the halls in a wheelchair, stumbling in high heels during the end of Gaga week, and shuffling awkwardly in his underwear during the Rocky Horror show. He could remember being hit with coats and backpacks as he wheeled by; falling and catching himself against the lockers in those heals; feeling the sheer embarrassment of being in his underwear at school.

But a sling and a limp were a whole new issue. He had to hoist his backpack onto his left shoulder instead of his dominant right one. He had to carry everything with one hand, and if anyone bumped his bad arm, the pain was ridiculous.

The New Directions helped as much as they could. One of them always walked with him, carrying his books without asking and making sure no one knocked into him. It was awesome, having such great friends. But in the most far-back reaches of his mind, Finn felt anxious. Anxious that he was at school, and Kurt was home. What if something happened? If the past had anything to say for itself, Finn would end up being the last to know. And it ate at him.

"Dude," Puck sighed, falling into the seat next to him. The classroom was starting to fill up around them as Finn yanked his biology notebook out of his bag and flopped it onto the table before him. "Why are you here so early?"

"Tina said it'd be easier to get in here without problem if I was early."

Puck just shrugged, accepting it as a reasonable explanation. He was silent for a minute, yanking out his own notebook, before he glanced around and leaned toward Finn.

"So... How's Kurt?"

Finn took a thoughtful breath and released it in a sigh. "He's alright. He should be back on Monday."

"He's hurt _that_bad?" Puck pushed, raising an eyebrow. "Dude, it's been a week."

Finn shrugged with his good shoulder and turned toward the front of the classroom. The teacher was already prattling about polynomials when the bell rang, and the talking level was hardly a whisper. Leaning back, he glanced across the room toward where Artie sat, scribbling notes down in his neat, blocky handwriting. He had told Finn he'd make a copy of his notes for him, since Finn couldn't write. So he let his mind wonder.

Colorful foam planets hung above his head, spinning slowly in the draft created by the air conditioning. His mind grew sluggish as he stared at them, eventually lapsing into a state of detachment. In the back of his mind, he knew he had the perfect excuse to _not_be paying attention, even if he understood the content. He was somehow juggling thoughts of boobs and cars when something light hit the back of his head.

A little paper ball bounced onto the floor between him and Puck. For a moment, Finn just stared at it, before looking behind him.

"Yo Hudson, how's the arm?"

Finn felt his eyebrows lower a fraction. Azimio grinned, leaning over his desk so that Finn could hear his hushed tone easier.

"I heard the little Lady got his ass handed to him by some bum."

"Piss off," Finn hissed, trying to sound threatening. Azimio and the other football player beside him laughed.

"What, did he like it? You look upset, Hudson. Jealous another man got so close to your little boyfriend?"

Finn turned fully in his chair, a fire sparked in his eyes. He slammed his good hand down on the table directly in front of Azimio, startling Puck out of his daydream.

"Shut the fuck up, Azimio! Don't ever talk about my brother like that!"

It took a moment for the anger to boil down, but when it did, Finn was suddenly aware of how silent the class had gotten. He could feel eyes burning into the back of his neck, but he held his glare. Azimio had leaned back, startled by the sudden display of protective rage, his face blank.

Puck leaned forward slowly and placed his hand on Finn's good shoulder. After a long stretch of silence, Finn stood, peeled his glare away from Azimio, and stormed out of the room.

-x-x-x-

Kurt sat down carefully on the wall of the tub, his shoulders curled forward to ease the aches and pains. Behind him, the water slowly built up, warm and steamy and bubbly. His toes tingled at the thought of the warm water on his bruises, relaxing his muscles. A hot bubble bath, some tea, and bed.

He looked down at his hands wearily. The phone clutched between his fingers stared back, an emotionless screen of familiar application thumbnails. Guiding his thumb slowly, he selected Contacts, and flicked down to _Blaine_. For a long time, he stared at the screen, listening to the tub slowly fill.

Blaine had been back for two days now, at home with his mother and father twenty minutes from Dalton. He had called once they got in, excited to be home, to be closer to Kurt. _How are you?_ he had asked. _What's gone on in Lima while I was gone?_

Kurt's first thought, understandably, was something along the lines of: _well, a backwards hick hit Finn with his car and kicked the ever-loving shit out of me, and then his buddy threw a brick at my window and now I'm afraid to go to sleep. Oh, and I think I passed my French final._

But he didn't say it. A lump swelled in his throat the size of Puck's ego and after the most fleeting silence, he had managed "Fine. How was your trip?"

He didn't regret it once it was said, but the instant he hung up, he knew he had screwed up. Why had he been so afraid of telling Blaine what had happened? _Blaine_, of all people, the boy who had pulled Kurt out of his pity party and helped him rise to be a better person. Blaine, who Kurt trusted with his _life_. Why didn't he just tell him that he had been attacked?

Part of him knew why, though he wished he didn't. No one but Kurt and Blaine really knew they were dating. At least, not to the degree that they were. Mercedes knew they were an item, had probably whispered it to Tina and Artie, maybe Brittany. The anonymous patrons of the Lima Bean coffee shop could put two and two together and recognize that the two boys saw something special in each other.

But it wasn't _common_ knowledge. The thought of everyone knowing used to be such a fabulous secret to Kurt. _One day_, he'd think,_ Blaine and I will do something fantastic to announce to the world that we're together_. He would look forward to it sometimes, imagining all sorts of elaborate duets and ballads they could sing.

Now, however, things had changed. If the entire town knew they were dating, the homicidal freaks would come out of the woodwork. The phone calls would be non-stop, the rednecks would throw more bricks, swerve into him with their cars. The thought of everyone knowing was no longer comforting; it was terrifying.

So to call Blaine, and have him freak out and rush over, and have everyone find out that they were together...

Kurt closed his eyes and tossed his phone onto the pile of clean pajamas sitting on the edge of the counter. He pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead and closed his eyes tight, wrestling with the threat of tears. He needed Blaine more than ever, but he loved him too much to put him in harm's way. What if those monsters attacked _him_?

After a few seconds, the brunette lowered his arm and turned off the water.

-x-x-x-

Trolololo. This is probably a disappointing chapter. :/ Sorry guys! Blaine shows up next time for sure, and hopefully more action/plot development will happen.

Thanks for all the reviews!


	7. Answering Machine

Oh look, it's been a month. D: Sorry guys. The end of senior year should be lazy, but for some reason all sorts of stuff keeps coming up.

Like the anti-bullying campaign I'm part of.

Or all the art projects I've been doing.

Or my dad getting married. (To his boyfriend of six years, _finally_!)

Or house sitting.

Or graduating.

Or college.

Or I don't know, more excuses. But here's a chapter for you guys.

A WILD BLAINE APPEARED!

-x-x-x-

**You have three new messages.**

At the age of eight, Kurt was obsessed with three things: Power Rangers, Disney movies, and holding hands with people. There were times when he managed all three, sitting on the sofa besides Burt, holding his Red Ranger figurine in one hand and clutching his father's big finger with the other. They would watch Sleeping Beauty, and he would tuck his face behind his father's strong arm during the scary scenes. Despite all the emotional drama the two had been through, there was something so innocent about Kurt that couldn't be changed.

Burt sighed along with the flowing memories and eased himself onto the footrest, silently removing his baseball cap from his head. Reaching out, he rested his open palm on Kurt's shoulder, giving it a small squeeze. For a still moment, he watched his son sleep on his side, curled around a copy of Wicked and an empty mug. The bandage on his forehead vanished, the bruise beneath his eye faded, and the split in his lip dissolved; for a brief instant, all he could see was his baby boy's face. He felt a small amount of ease seep into his chest.

Suddenly, Kurt flinched, inhaling slowly and fluttering his eyelids. The illusion was broken, and suddenly the bandage was back, and the bruise and split lip returned. As his son opened his eyes tiredly, Burt set his jaw and swallowed.

"Hey kiddo," he said softly, smoothing back Kurt's hair, "I gotta run to the shop real quick, okay? Some parts came in that only I can sign for."

Kurt looked at him blankly, too exhausted to be worried about his father's leaving.

"I'll be back soon. Carole is in the kitchen with one of her friends, and Finn will be home from school any minute now. Okay?"

"Mm."

Burt tried to hold Kurt's attention, but the blue-green of his eyes vanished as he slipped back to sleep. Sighing fondly, Burt ruffled Kurt's hair and stood, lifting the mug and book up out of his arms so he could get more comfortable. He made it a few paces toward the door before stealing a glance back over his shoulder, a tired grin pulling onto his face.

Kurt still had that bizarre air of innocence about him, curled on the sofa beneath two throw blankets, his head buried in decorative pillows. It was something his mother had, something that he reflected each time he hid behind Burt's arm during a scary scene of a Disney movie, or told his teachers that he had to go home early for his Power Rangers wedding.

The thought sparked a strange amount of confidence in Burt as he turned out of the room, still grinning.

-x-x-x-

"Oh, my little darling, come here," a warm voice pleaded. Kurt turned in his shoes-too big, but they were the smallest size with light-up heals-and raced across the lawn toward the woman, her hair draped over her shoulder in a beautiful chestnut flow. He stumbled on the last few steps, falling into her waiting arms with a laugh bubbling out of his chest.

"You're so _fast_!" the woman laughed, hoisting him onto her lap. "How did you get so fast?"

Kurt pressed his face into the soft fabric of her sundress and closed his eyes, smiling. "I've always been fast!"

"Ah, Kurt, how sweet."

Wrapped in his mother's embrace, he only smiled wider and took a deep breath of her familiar scent.

"Are you awake?"

"Mhm," he replied sleepily, feeling his mother's hand on his shoulder.

"Kurt? Come on, buddy, wake up."

"I _am_awake," he whispered, trying to press his cheek deeper into his mother's warmth.

"Here, Finn, let me try. Kurt?"

… Finn? Kurt's eyebrows narrowed some. Finn wasn't there. Kurt had been playing in the yard, alone. Wearing the suspenders he had when he was six. He was on his mother's lap. Finn did not belong in this universe.

"Hey," a gentle voice said, this time not his mother. Kurt opened his eyes, and the illusion of his backyard all those years ago was shattered.

Crouching beside the sofa, Blaine stroked his fingers over Kurt's shoulder gently and tilted his head to the side. Finn was hovering over him, a goofy smile on his face.

"You dreaming about something, Kurt?" he asked, leaning forward with his palms on his knees and his elbows locked. Kurt narrowed his eyes and blinked a few times before bringing his knuckles up to rub them clear of sleep.

"... What?"

"You were talking about running," Blaine chuckled, his hand still nestled on Kurt's shoulder. There was a moment of confusion before brilliant blue eyes snapped open, and Kurt rolled away, startled.

"Blaine! Why are you-... But Finn," he stuttered, struggling to sit up. He ignored the hand on his shoulder that tried to push him back down, and rolled his legs around so he could sit properly on the sofa.

"Easy, Kurt, your ribs," Finn advised, standing upright. "I called Blaine during lunch today and told him what happened."

A sinking sense of guilt and panic shivered in Kurt's stomach, his eyes moving reluctantly toward the dapper young man beside him. Blaine took a small breath.

"Kurt, why didn't you tell me over the phone? I would have come sooner."

The countertenor looked between the two, silently moving his lips as he tried to find what he wanted to say. Blaine shifted from his spot beside the couch and dropped onto the sofa beside Kurt, his hand gently pressing into his back to rub small circles.

"I'm so glad you're okay," he muttered quietly, hovering perhaps too close for Kurt to think Finn wouldn't notice. But then, if Finn had told Blaine about the accident, then maybe Blaine had...

"We're um," Kurt blurted inelegantly, flinching under Blaine's touch and motioning toward Finn in an almost apologetic manner. "What I mean is, we've been..."

"Dating," Finn supplied with a shrug. "It's cool, Kurt, we'll keep it quiet. But you could have told me, you know."

"You like keeping secrets, huh," Blaine asked, trying a smile on so the accusation wouldn't sound rude. Kurt looked at him for a small moment before dropping back against the couch, sighing. He looked down at his hands.

"It's alright. My parents know what happened, they're cool with me staying here for a few nights," Blaine offered. Finn nodded and pushed his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels.

"Yeah, mom is up for it too."

Kurt lifted his tired eyes toward his brother and studied him for a moment before sighing again, this time audibly. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner," he whispered, tilting his head toward Blaine. It came to rest on his shoulder, and suddenly, Kurt didn't feel as guilty anymore.

"It's alright. It's big news to break over the phone. Just... let me be there for you next time, okay?"

"Next time?" Finn repeated quizzically. Kurt grinned despite himself at Blaine's mistake and listened to the Warbler try to correct himself for a moment before giving up. Finn moved and eased into his father's chair, and the three lapsed into a comfortable silence. Around the time Blaine draped his arm around Kurt's shoulders, Finn asked if Kurt still needed to sleep.

"No," the feminine brunette replied, "I won't sleep at all tonight if I don't get up. Besides, I need to take more pain killers. My arm is _killing_me."

"I hear ya," Finn muttered. Blaine shifted and withdrew his arm.

"Well, okay then. We can make brownies?"

Kurt's eyes glinted with a strange mix of hunger and love. "That sounds better than an Oprah marathon."

Finn was on his feet first, grinning like an idiot. "I like this idea. You should come over more often, dude."

Blaine smiled and helped Kurt to his feet, frowning at how the slighter boy seemed so pained by it. He was opening his mouth to reply when the digital chirping of the telephone cut them off.

The three boys fell into a tense silence. Blaine looked at Finn, Finn looked to Kurt, and Kurt looked down at the phone on the table beside the sofa.

"'Unknown'," he muttered uneasily. He was turning his eyes toward Finn when he felt Blaine's hands on his shoulders, holding him in an oddly protective way.

"Ignore it. If it's important, your father can listen to the message later."

Finn swallowed thickly. "Yeah. Um... So, brownies?"

The phone rang twice more before cutting to silence. Kurt looked at it uneasily for a moment longer before taking a short breath and putting on a smile.

"Yes. Brownies."

-x-x-x-

Carole blew a breath out between her lips and dropped her two grocery bags onto the counter. The relief in her arms was enough to make her sing as she leaned around the corner a bit, peering into the sitting room where Finn, Blaine and Kurt had been watching a movie since she came home. A small, fond smile stole her expression as she turned back into the kitchen; she could unpack the bags without help, just this once. They all looked so comfortable for once.

A small beep brought her attention toward the phone dock. A brilliant red flashed the number '3' again and again, indicating missed messages. Not that she couldn't blame the boys for not wanting to pick up the phone, but _three times_? At least Finn could have checked the caller ID.

Her finger punched against the playback button before she set about unpacking groceries.

_"Hey Carole, it's Margaret. I was thinking it'd be nice to make you guys some stew! Give you a break from all that cooking, you know, so you can spend time with the boys after what happened. Call me back!_"

A long beep signaled the end of the first message. Carole grinned and opened the fridge, tugging open a clear drawer and setting a brick of cheese inside.

_"Hey, Burt Hummel, it's Greg Harrison. We spoke earlier about that carburetor-"_

Carole tuned out the mechanic jargon that drawled out of the little speaker on the phone and tried to decide if she should hide the peanut butter for a while, or let Finn get into it. It'd be gone in a day if he found it...

Another beep. The third and final message started with a moment of silence, before someone started to chuckle.

_"I guess you wised up, faggot."_

Carole fell stock still beside the island counter, her hand clutching a carton of orange juice.

_"So you put our buddy behind bars. Bet you're proud about that, huh? Well I've got some news for you, you unholy little monster-this won't go unpunished. Hide behind your father all you want, we'll get you. _I'll_ get you. No sin goes unpunished."_

Then, a beep. Carole stood in numb silence, staring in horror at the answering machine for a long moment before Finn laughed in the other room and she was brought crashing back to reality. There was a second where her heart pounded in her throat, and the lights above her head seemed far too bright, before she dropped the orange juice and darted around into the living room.

"Finn, lock the doors. _Now_. Kurt, phone."

She didn't wait for him to ask why. The urgency in her tone had her son up and off to do as he was told, leaving Blaine looking confused, and Kurt looking increasingly panicked.

"Kurt, _phone_!"

Startled by her yelling, Kurt twisted toward the table beside the couch and lifted his iPhone from the top of the newest Vogue, pushing it toward her. She jolted forward the instant it was available to her and grabbed it up, quickly tapping out Burt's number.

"What's going on?" Blaine asked, sounding oddly rational and calm. Carole couldn't even find it in herself to appreciate his tone. She waited in tense silence for a moment, glancing up when Finn slid back into the room, his task complete. Then, a familiar voice answered on the other end, and she blurted the first thing that came to the tip of her tongue.

"Burt, get home _now_, we got another call!"

-x-x-x-

And then, cliffhanger.

But I'll update sooner this time! I promise. A month is too long. ALSO HAPPY BIRFFDAY CHRIS COLFER, YOU MAH FAVVORAYTE PERSUNN

Thanks for all the thoughtful reviews!


	8. Messages

I don't know if you guys are into listening to music while you read, but I'm just gonna leave this here, and if you wanna listen to it, I won't tell anyone: The Shrine/An Argument – Fleet Foxes

(Also, Please Don't Go – Barcelona for the second Klaine scene.)

You know, because mood music is awesome.

Anyway, what is this, an update sooner than a month? Madness, I say. _Anarchy!_

-x-x-x-

**To listen to the first message, press one now.**

"Thanks for the pizza Mrs H."

"Thanks," Sam agreed through a mouthful, nodding shyly the second he realized he was forgetting his manors. Carole smiled at the two boys and shook her head.

"Not a problem. Wipe your chin, Noah."

Puck pulled a napkin out from the holder and did as he was told. Through middle school, he had heard that so many times from Carole during hang outs with Finn that by now, it was as common as "hello". Sitting beside the blond at the dining room table, he kicked his feet out, ignoring it when they bumped into Blaine's socked toes. The Warbler retracted them, sparing only a brief glance at the rough young man before turning back to his conversation with Kurt. The two had been muttering to each other all day.

"Thank you for having us," Sam insisted, this time with no food in his mouth and his hands in his lap. Finn shifted at the head of the table, recognizing the knowing look in his mother's eyes. For a moment, he was worried that she would spoil it and say something like _"Well, we just appreciate you guys looking out for Kurt,"_ but the comment never came.

"It's alright. We've been recording all the games, so you boys'll be awfully busy tonight."

Finn relaxed a bit. _Thank Cheesus for football_, he thought distantly, easing back into his chair. It was the perfect excuse, and Kurt took it at face value when Puck showed up with a liter of Coke and bag of Doritos. "Football, dude," he had said, silently observing Kurt's bruised cheek, the bandage on his forehead. The split lip was fading, but still obvious. "You and Dwain wanna watch?"

"Blaine," Kurt had corrected gently, still tired from all the hysteria that had been generated the night before. "And no, thank you."

"Your loss," Sam chirped from behind as he followed Puck into the house. He was much softer with his greeting to Kurt, asking how he was feeling. Carole had swept in seconds later asking who wanted what on the pizza she was about to order.

And here they were. Finn stole a glance at Puck, feeling a strange bit of pride hit him in the chest. His best friend, for all the shit they had gone through, all the drama. Puck had changed so much, even if he still coated it with an inch-thick shell of badass. Not long ago, he was throwing Kurt into dumpsters. Now he was recruiting Sam to spend the night just so they could make sure some psycho religious whack job didn't hurt him again.

"Finn, the salt please?" his mother was asking, her hand stretched across the table toward him. He jumped, jerking himself back to reality before fumbling for the salt. Blaine smiled and silently helped him pass it across to Carole, who grinned at the both of them before going back to her conversation with Sam.

Finn's eyes stuck to Blaine, even though the Warbler had looked back to Kurt. _Everyone is here to protect him_, he thought briefly. The fleeting realization eased whatever anxiety he still had crawling around in his stomach, drawing a content sigh out of his chest. At least for now, things were normal.

He set in on his pizza.

-x-x-x-

It was actually revolting, seeing Finn, Puck and Sam eat that much. Kurt understood that they were larger, and played sports and worked up their appetites. He was a teenage boy too, he could eat a large amount of food with no trouble. But it was the _way_ they ate it, as if it were going out of business and having an eighty-percent-off sale. They ate it faster than Kurt could set a pile of acid washed denim on fire. Faster than he could identify the highlight of every Grey's Anatomy season, even. And that was _fast_.

Blaine had stolen the last slice from Puck, who, oddly enough, didn't seem to mind. He had been in mid-reach, and when Blaine stole it out from under his hand and Puck moved to grab it, his eyes flashed toward Kurt, and he eased back into his seat. It hadn't struck Kurt as strange, but it was what Blaine was talking about now.

"I'm sure he just didn't want to upset you after all that's happened."

"Noah isn't that thoughtful," Kurt said with a shake of his head, looking everywhere around his familiar bedroom but the window. The opaque plastic that had been spread over it and stuck up with blue tape was a looming reminder of why he hadn't slept in the room until tonight.

"Well then that just confirms my suspicion that they're here for more than just football."

"I think you're giving all of them far too much credit."

Blaine grinned and set down the wooden 'K' that he had found on the bookshelf. His eyes swept fondly toward the boy on the bed, and before he could give it conscious thought, he was moving forward.

"Deny it if you want," he said with a smile, "but they all care about you. That's been obvious since before you came to Dalton."

"Yeah, but-"

"And Sam is a nice guy."

"He is, but I-"

"I bet it was Finn's idea."

"Blaine," Kurt sighed, narrowing his eyes. The addressed boy slid onto the large mattress and nestled himself beside Kurt, farther up on the bed so that his boyfriend's head could rest against his chest. Sighing through a smile, Blaine reached up and delicately ghosted his fingers over Kurt's hair.

"Okay, I'll stop. But don't tell me you're not just a _little_ bit flattered."

Kurt tenderly pressed his lips together, the familiar soreness of his bottom lip going unnoticed. Resting his forehead against shoulder, he pressed his fingertips against the dark blue cardigan before him and closed his eyes.

"It's a little patronizing, don't you think? To have to be protected like this?"

"It wasn't patronizing when I came into the picture."

Kurt grinned despite himself, feeling the bruise on his cheek ache. "Well no, but you're you. I like you. You're not Puckerman."

"Puckerman I am not," Blaine agreed, shifting and grabbing up a pillow, sliding it underneath his head. Kurt reached down absentmindedly and yanked his comforter up, covering himself up to his shoulders and, inadvertently, Blaine up to his middle. They lapsed into silence, appreciating each other's warmth and company, before Blaine grinned to himself.

"You left the light on," he said quietly.

"Carole will get it eventually," came the returning whisper. Kurt sounded as though he were already circling toward sleep. Blaine's eyes momentarily spotted the orange bottle of pills on the bedside table, and considered how exhausted they made the thinner boy.

"We haven't fallen asleep like this before."

"Mhm."

"'Mhm'?"

"Shh."

Blaine's smile grew, and he closed his eyes.

-x-x-x-

It was a terrible, awful idea. No good could or would come of it, regardless of Puck's promises and Sam's reasoning. His shoulder hurt, he was tired, he didn't want to go outside, and his mother would get upset if she found out. Finn wasn't against breaking rules, but the circumstances were particularly sour.

"Stop being such a pussy," Puck whispered, leading the way through the dark kitchen toward the back door. "It's just a little surveillance."

"There's a cop car circling the block every ten minutes," Finn insisted, looking over his good shoulder at Sam, who shrugged.

Puck reached the door and grabbed the brass handle. "The cops won't do anything. They're probably talking about donuts and not paying attention at all. Besides, I haven't been over here since you guys moved. I wanna see the place."

"We had too much caffeine to sleep, anyway," Sam muttered, stepping around Finn as Puck pulled the back door open. Cool night air swept in around them as the back yard was revealed, shifting colors of navy and dark green. The huge oak tree rustled it's broad leaves in the wind, calling them out into the darkness. For whatever reason, Finn followed the other two as they slipped quietly out of the house.

The grass was damp and cool beneath his toes. He hadn't really spent much time outside recently, since it had been too cold for months, and now that the weather was warming up, he had the whole Hate Crime Drama to keep him occupied. Plus, his pain medication made him sleepy.

"Sweet yard," Sam commented. It was the only thing spoken until they moved into the towering rhododendron plants at the back end of the yard, hiding themselves from view of the house. An old mossy fence ran the length of the property under the bush, and they huddled against it, Puck hopping up to see over it.

"Dude, there's an alley back here."

"Yeah, it's just gravel. We keep the garbage and recycling stuff back there."

"Sketchy," Puck muttered, as if he hadn't heard Finn at all. Dropping back down, he turned toward the two of them and stretched his arms out, taking a deep breath.

"I say we set some kind of trip wire. Like we did in the seventh grade with those walkie talkies."

"That didn't work," Finn countered, glancing toward the house as if he expected Burt to be standing by the back door, tapping his foot. There was nothing.

"Yeah, because there weren't any bandits sneaking into your house. Is that a gate over there?"

Puck motioned toward a section of the fence that was shorter than the rest, and rounded at the top. He took a few steps toward it, ducking a few tangling branches on his way. Sam pushed his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and grinned a bit.

"We used to have these kinds of bushes at my old house, before we moved here. They get huge."

"They're really sticky though," Finn commented, staring after Puck with concern on his face. For a moment, he wondered what he was looking at: Puck was entirely still in his tracks, except for one hand waving back at them. Both of the other boys fell stock still and silent, listening.

Crunching footsteps moved quietly on the other side of the fence, growing closer to the gate. Puck eased his extended foot onto the ground and squinted through the dark, trying to make out the figure through the cracks in the wood. Sam eased his way through the dirt toward him, careful not to make a sound. Finn stayed still.

There was a moment of silence right after the footsteps reached the gate. Finn stared at it, willing it to open and reveal the stranger to them. All of his muscles strained, tense with anticipation. His lungs began to call for air, but he could hardly allow himself to breathe. His palms felt sweaty.

Then, there was a small sound, like someone was exerting effort. Finn's eyes snapped upward as something thin and long shot up over the fence, into the air toward the oak tree. It sailed for a silent moment before hooking around a tall, thick branch of the oak tree above. Whatever it was swung loosely in the night air, a black line against the deep blue of space.

Puck recognized what it was first. A bitter swear shot out of his mouth, and he dove at the fence, leaping onto it. There was a startled cry on the other side, before crunches of gravel raced away. Puck was gone, over the fence in pursuit. Sam called after him, bolting up over the boards only seconds later.

And Finn just stood there, staring at it. He was breathing hard, but he couldn't feel any oxygen flow into his lungs. The thing up in the tree swung back and forth, heavy with dread and entirely visible to every window of the house. Specifically Kurt's.

A noose.

-x-x-x-

Blaine's hand found Kurt's knee and gave it a gentle squeeze, prompting his boyfriend to lean against him and rest his head on his shoulder. The countertenor was hugging his stomach delicately as they sat on the side of his bed, listening to his father rant away in the kitchen.

Neither had spoken after they heard about what had happened. Carole had woken them up to make sure they were alright, and when Burt began to yell downstairs, she left them with the instruction to stay put. So stay put they did.

He could feel the soft fabric of Kurt's pajama bottoms against his fingers, could smell his moisturizer and his expensive shampoo. Blaine thought about the scar on the side of Kurt's neck, about the way he could bend his thumb farther than anyone else on the Warblers, or how he would hiccup if he laughed too hard for too long. They were little things, that perhaps other people had noticed them before him, but Blaine liked to think that they had never really been appreciated. Not until Blaine had noticed them, and though he never mentioned it, he loved every little oddity Kurt had. Every little mispronunciation and silly face.

And he loved being able to hold hands with him. He loved him, and he loved that Kurt loved him. But Kurt wasn't thinking about any of these things; he was decidedly distracted with the events that were going on downstairs, and not with thoughts of Blaine's triangular eyebrows or argyle socks.

"Kurt?"

In response, the younger boy just rolled his head against Blaine's shoulder and sighed shakily.

"... You know I love you, right?"

Blaine continued to stare at his hand on Kurt's knee, suddenly struck by how his hand felt so big against it.

"I love you too," Kurt whispered after a brief silence.

"And you know that no matter what, I'm here for you."

Kurt wilted a bit, closing his eyes and shifting stiffly. Blaine looked up toward his face and spotted the tears sitting on his eyelashes, threatening to fall. He reached up and brushed his thumb gently against Kurt's cheeks, clearing the tears away as they slipped free.

"I mean it," he insisted, his voice hardly more than a whisper. "No matter what."

"Why won't they stop?" The sob slipped out, breaking the facade Kurt had been struggling to hold up. It took two unsteady breaths for him to regain his composure. Blaine just shook his head, unsure what to say in response.

"They're ignorant. They don't know how beautiful you are."

"But they-" Kurt pushed, his voice cracking with another sob, betraying his quickly-crumbling exterior, "-they won't stop! How am I supposed to feel safe like this?"

Blaine looked at him, feeling himself edge toward a similar state of emotional turmoil. But no, he had to stay calm. He had to be the brave one; if he couldn't be strong for Kurt now, how could he promise it in the future? Taking a deep breath, he pivoted his body around and took up both of Kurt's hands, squeezing them.

"Look at me."

Kurt kept his eyes closed tight, tears racing down his cheeks as he struggled to close himself back up.

"Kurt."

With a little effort, the rich chestnut of Kurt's hair lifted, revealing his watery blue eyes. Blaine bit his tongue for the briefest second, feeling unease settle in his stomach like it had just before he kissed Kurt the first time, back in that familiar room in Dalton.

"Listen to me," he began softly, gripping Kurt's hands tightly as if letting go would rip them apart forever. "No matter what happens, promise me you'll always hold my hand when you need to."

Kurt held it together for four seconds. The first flicked by easily, the second came with a small gag of emotion, the third was him trying to fix it, and the forth was his face suddenly wilting like a flower. He leaned forward, despite the pain in his torso, and collapsed against Blaine's chest, finally allowing himself the right to cry. Blaine's arms wrapped around his upper back, his teeth clenched tight to hold back his own emotions. Kurt shook in his grip, his shoulders jolting with each sob. Somewhere amongst all the crying, Blaine made out an "Okay".

They stayed like that for a long time.

-x-x-x-

Oh so hey, it's June now. Just letting you know.

Thank you for the reviews! You guys are so awesome~


	9. Reconnect

Bkmfglkbgmdh.

You know how a lot of authors apologize for long absences by saying their lives have been hectic? Well, "hectic" doesn't really cover it, and none of you want to hear excuses, so I'll skip the whole schpeal altogether. Sound good? Yes? Great.

I will, however, apologize for the length of this chapter. It's not as long as it should be, but it's one in the morning, I really want to update, and you guys have waited way too long as it is. So instead of starting the next part, which will draw the writing of this chapter out another day or two, here you go.

Also, thank you guys _so _damn much for sticking with it this long. A lot of the stories I've been following have stopped updating, and I know how depressing it can be. Heaven help me, I _will_ finish this story.

-x-x-x-

**The line is busy.**

"Woah, wait. What is _that_?" Finn came to an abrupt halt on his way into the kitchen, his socked feet slipping against the tile. Wearily, Kurt looked up from where he stood leaning against the counter and lifted an eyebrow.

"What's what?"

"That. What are you doing?"

A second of silence beat between them before Kurt's eyes returned to the fuzzy brown fruit in his hand. "... It's a kiwi."

Finn blinked and stepped forward to inspect it as Kurt slowly peeled the skin away to reveal the bright green fruit beneath. "Seriously?"

Kurt's look grew increasingly judgemental. "You don't know what a kiwi is?"

The taller of the two responded with a shrug, leaning back and turning toward the fridge. "Well, yeah, I just... I always thought it was a kind of strawberry."

Four days had passed, and a strange quiet had settled into the halls of the house. Carole's conversations with friends over the phone were brief and hushed, Burt spent most of his time in the garage fixing things that did not need fixing, and Finn resigned himself to video game marathons. Blaine had left the day prior, with a hug and a sorrowful look and a promise to come back as soon as he could, and suddenly, they had no reason to talk.

"By that logic, strawberries are a type of banana."

Finn grinned. "Imagine a strawberry shaped like a banana?"

"I'd rather not."

At least not conversations, that is. Simple exchanges, like "are you alright" and "pass the salt" were the only thing they could seem to handle. The silences were comfortable, but the Hummel-Hudson family knew they wouldn't last long. Especially when Kurt left the room, and the tension, the need to say something, would start to grow. Finn wanted to ask what the plan was, but the look on Burt's face kept him quiet: whatever was being discussed wasn't Finn's business yet. Something about an aunt in Vermont, and the price of airline tickets.

"Where do you find these weird fruits, anyway?"

Somehow, a bemused grin pushed its way onto Kurt's face. "The store, Finn. Don't you ever go shopping with your mom?"

"Well, yeah. To like, the shoe store. I'm not good at food shopping, she always says I ask for too much junk food."

Kurt responded with a knowing '_mhm'_' and set the small kiwi down onto a plate behind him, slicing it into segments. The boys set about eating their respective snacks-Kurt's kiwi, Finn's glass of milk- while lapsing into another practiced silence. In the living room, the old clock struck eight, and Finn groaned.

"You're lucky you don't have to go back until Monday."

"At least you've gotten over the awkward 'welcome back' stage."

Setting his glass in the sink, Finn ducked out of the room and scooped up his backpack by the door. "You sure you're cool with me using your car?"

From the kitchen, Kurt sighed. "As long as you remember our deal."

"Yeah, yeah. If anything happens to your baby, you get to sell my baseball card collection for shopping money. Don't worry, I won't let that happen."

"Good. Get my French homework for me?"

Kurt was answered by the front door slamming. He stood still for a moment in the sudden, crippling silence of the kitchen, before drawing a slow breath. Testing the tenderness of his ribs, he looked down at the fruit he had cut up and, for the first time, gave his return to school actual thought.

The anxiety that followed was perhaps worse than it had been when he saw the noose up in the tree.

-x-x-x-

"So, I mean, tell me if I'm wrong of course, I really wouldn't want to do anything to make this situation any more stressful than it is, because I know you're all going through so much and I'm sure your mother and Kurt's father are being very much proactive about what they plan on doing next-"

"Woah, Rachael, calm down. You're all over the place."

"Um, right, sorry. But, Finn, could you-... Could you slow down, maybe, just a bit?"

Finn stopped, pivoting on his heal and looking down at Rachael's headband curiously. "Yeah?"

Drawing a short breath to collect herself, Rachael adjusted her blouse and offered him an uncertain smile. "Well, I told my dads about the whole situation. I mean, they knew anyway, it was in the paper, but, they know about what you guys are going through."

Finn suddenly looked nervous. "It was in the paper?"

"Just a small article," Rachael said dismissively, perhaps too quickly. "But, they want to offer their help. In whatever way works. I guess they really sympathize with what Kurt must be going through, and anything to help ease the stress on your family would be an _honor_, really. I've told them all about Kurt, and they really want to help."

Finn glanced over his shoulder, hardly registering that the hallway was starting to clear out. "How could they help? You mean like, talking to Kurt?"

"No, no. More like... Well, if you guys needed a place to stay. We have a state-of-the-art security system at our house, and plenty of room, and, you know, it might help you sleep better at night. I... heard about the vandalism in the tree."

Finn's chest tightened for a fraction of a second. "Well... yeah, actually, that would be pretty cool. Would _you_be okay with that? I mean, if it happened."

Rachael grinned and nodded her head quickly, letting her hair slip over her shoulder and bounce a bit. "Absolutely. Kurt's been such a good friend, and, well, despite our colorful history together, I always feel more comfortable when you're around, so..."

The shrill ring of the bell sounded above them, and the conversation suddenly felt like it was over. Finn smiled sincerely and turned to start walking toward the science room, with Rachael skipping along beside him. For the smallest of moments, Finn was able to let go of all the tension in his shoulders, all the stress in his chest, and feel comfortable knowing that of course, things would work out. They were almost out of the woods.

Until he spotted Azimio glaring at him on the other end of the hallway, and a chill shot up his spine.

-x-x-x-

"No, absolutely not. Hummels don't run and hide. Not to mention, we don't even know these people."

Carole turned and opened her mouth to respond to Burt's sudden, overconfident reaction to Finn's suggestion, when Kurt set his fork down.

"If we don't run from anything, why are you looking into getting tickets to Aunt Claire's house?"

Carole's mouth closed quickly. She had learned better than to try and get between the two Hummels when they were spiraling toward a debate, and so she instead sat back in her chair and motioned for Finn to stay quiet.

"That's different, she's family." Quickly, Burt turned back to Finn. "It's very nice of them to offer," he said slowly, "but I'd rather go visit some family, where we won't be imposing and we won't be in town."

"Rachael lives a little ways out of town," Kurt responded calmly, reaching for his glass. Burt set his jaw in response to the cool, measured tone his son was using, and looked back at him.

"I know you guys both think it would be fun, but I'm not comfortable with-"

"Burt," Carole said patiently, "think about it. The tickets to go visit are expensive, and then when would we come back? The school year isn't even over."

At the mention of McKinley High, Kurt and Finn exchanged a nervous look. They hadn't spoken about Kurt's return to school yet, but the quick glance brought the subject to the front of their minds, and the room suddenly felt a few degrees colder.

Burt, on the other hand, hadn't lost track of the current discussion. "Well what else is there to do? You really think we should go stay in the home of people we've never met? We don't know they're views, we don't know their schedules! For all we _do_know, they could be just as insensitive as someone who-"

"They're gay," Kurt announced, as if he were commenting on the paint job of a car at the auto shop. Burt fell silent suddenly, looking at his son with unexpected surprise. Kurt shrugged. "I thought Finn told you guys that."

Carole nodded. "Well, yes, I knew. You didn't, Burt?"

Sitting back, Burt chewed his food thoughtfully before looking from Carole to Kurt, and finally to Finn. "No, that much I didn't know."

"But it changes things, maybe?" Carole asked, sounding hopeful. Kurt glanced toward her before turning his poker face back toward his father.

For a long moment, they were quiet. The clinking of silverware on plates and the shifting of bodies in chairs filled the air between them, narrating the silence until Burt set his fork down and sighed.

"I just don't feel like you're safe here, Kurt. Or you, Carole, or you, Finn. This is our _home_, but if I can't make it safe, and keep it that way, then... Then we have to go somewhere else. You're all more important than a house."

A small smile pulled at the corner of Carole's mouth, and her hand settled down on Kurt's casted wrist gently. The youngest member of the family looked toward Carole curiously before he noticed the look on her face, and he too managed a small, relieved grin.

"So we'll get in contact with the Berrys, then?"

Burt lifted his eyes to find three hopeful smiles. Crossing his arms over his chest, he shrugged before releasing the tension with a sigh. "... Sure. Worth a shot."

-x-x-x-

Please review! Now that I've set up what will happen next, an update should come much faster.


	10. Redial

I figured I would wait until season 3 started before I updated again, because I've been busy with college preparation and it felt like a good way to celebrate and unwind a bit. Besides, season 3 feels like it's going to be really good! Let's see if I can finish this before they develop the plot any further and ruin all the canons I'm working with.

Thanks for being so patient with me! By the way, am I the only one that thinks Chris Colfer got even more beautiful during the break?

-x-x-x-

**Please hold.**

"... It'll be okay though, right? It's just school. I can handle school."

Kurt stared out the car door window through hundreds of droplets of rain, trying to pick out a familiar face on the front steps of McKinley. The students ducking in out of the shower were all covering their faces with jackets and umbrellas, and for a moment, he felt that maybe they were at the wrong school. How was it that he couldn't recognize anyone?

"You'll be fine, Kurt. You've got Finn there with you and the whole Glee club," Burt replied confidently, lifting his work-hardened hand from the steering wheel and placing it on his son's knee. Kurt was silent for a moment, chewing gently on his lower lip, before he nodded.

"Right. Yeah, I know."

"Listen, you call me if anything happens. Hell, even if nothin' happens and you just wanna come home. We'll take this slow, alright?"

Somehow, Kurt wrapped his thin fingers around the handle of the door and held it a moment, dropping his eyes to his lap. With a quick breath, he turned his head around toward his father as he pushed his way out of the truck. "Thanks, dad."

"One thing at a time," Burt reminded him just before the teen pushed the door shut, hunching to open his umbrella against the rain. He turned, moving slowly across the puddled sidewalk toward the school, all the while listening to the sound of the truck engine behind him. Even as it faded, melting into the drumming of the rain, Kurt knew his father was still sitting there, watching him. He knew it as he walked past the dumpsters, down the front walk, and up the steps. Other students bustled in around him, too rushed to notice his presence, too focused on their greetings and gossip. Kurt could feel his father's eyes on his back, but he refused to turn and look until he was holding the front door open. Only then did he chance a look over his shoulder, spotting the truck sitting where he had left it.

After a pause, he lifted his arm up and waved, watching the familiar vehicle pull away from the curb and vanish into the rain. Kurt lowered his arm slowly before shaking himself out of his daze, turning and sliding into the foyer.

Umbrella closed, hood down, hideous raincoat off. Standing to the side, he carefully wrapped up the umbrella and folded his coat, tucking everything together neatly under his arms before twisting to face the crowd of soaked students.

He was startled to find, however, that people had already noticed him. Their conversations seemed to mute themselves as they walked passed, their eyes flicking over their shoulders at him. _Is that him?_ _He's back? Wow, I thought he was still in the hospital. I heard they broke both his legs._

For the smallest of seconds, he thought he would dart back outside and chase his father down. Hell, he'd be up for walking home. But, all too quickly, a sense of stubborn resiliency flashed through him, and he straightening his posture as best as his sore torso would allow.

As he had done for so long, he prepared for whatever bullying might come his way: chin up, chest out, (though his ribs were still too sore to really achieve it,) face straight. _You will grow up and get out of this town and find more happiness than they'll ever know. _

Once he was sure his face wouldn't falter, he started down the hallway toward the choir room.

-x-x-x-

Finn let the crowd lead him into the cafeteria. While his feet stepped blindly along with the herd of other students, his eyes scanned to the left and right for a familiar head of well-maintained hair. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew Kurt wouldn't be eating in the cafeteria today, but he didn't see him bring his own lunch. He was thinking about getting double portions and bringing them to the choir room for his step brother when something swung into his good arm.

"Hey, I heard you're going to be staying with Berry."

Puck parted the crowd like an angry bull, mindlessly shoving people out of their way. Finn hugged his sore arm close and tried not to pay attention to it.

"Yeah, well, they have this top-notch security system or something, so, we'd be safer there."

Puck nodded absently, seeming not to have been listening. "Right, cool. This is the perfect opportunity for you to _get some_, man. I mean, think about it: you in one room, her right down the hall. Maybe you'll even have to share a room with her."

Finn wrinkled his nose. "That's actually the farthest thing from my mind. Besides, my mom and Burt are going to be there."

"So? Sneaking around makes it even better."

The crowd around them suddenly dispersed as students spread out to their respective tables. Finn stepped away from Puck, hoping he'd get the message and leave, but the mohawked delinquent kept right up along side him.

"At _least_ score a brother some panties."

"Dude, shut up."

Puck laughed, lifting a few fingers off of his backpack straps to concede defeat. Finn pulled a faded red tray out of the stack at the start of the line and slid it down the counter, pulling off two servings of everything.

"You're eating your feelings now?" Puck asked, snagging a bottle of milk and some chicken.

"I'm getting something for Kurt to eat. I doubt he's in here."

Puck set his jaw, and for a moment, Finn thought he saw actual concern. Just a moment, though.

"I heard he's been in the girl's locker room between every class. Brit and 'Cedes won't let him out of their sights."

Finn stopped at the end of the counter and looked down at the tray, suddenly realizing that he would have a hard time lifting it with his arm in a sling. Puck sighed, setting his own food down on top of Finn's lunch and lifting the tray with one hand.

"Seriously, how much longer do you have to have that thing on?"

"Til' the end of the week."

"Sucks, bro... Hey, does Kurt have, like, a blue jacket on today?"

Finn looked up as the cashier handed him his change. "Yeah, why?"

"Because there's Kurt, and there's Azimio."

-x-x-x-

Kurt had adapted to the school lunch schedule years ago. He only started to get hungry right before lunch began, and the rest of the day went without the smallest intestinal growl. But today, be it because of the stress or the sudden return to said schedule, Kurt found himself hungry after only his second class.

Brittany had offered him an aged granola bar during morning break as they sat on the benches in the girl's locker room, but it hadn't been enough. By the time lunch rolled around, Kurt was facing a dilemma: go to the cafeteria and risk public exposure, or stay put and chew on a bar of soap. And Dial would probably only make things worse.

With some work, he got the sleeve of his blue Marc Jacobs jacket over the cast on his forearm. Taking a few careful breaths, he slid his sunglasses on over his tired eyes and stepped out into the hallway with Mercedes by his side, bracing for whatever might come his way. Gossip or not, Kurt Hummel needed a salad.

Not but four steps into the cafeteria, he was already weighing the pros and cons of eating the soap. The walk down the hallway hadn't been that terrible, only a few straying glances and an awkward nod in his direction. But the table nearest the door to the cafeteria grew silent when Mercedes pulled him into the large room. Again, Kurt reached an impasse: the smell of food drew him toward the lunch line, the stares of football jocks pushed him back to the door. If Mercedes wasn't keeping him rooted to the spot, he would be floundering.

"Hey Fancy, how was the vacation?"

He didn't even need to look at who was talking to decide that a soap diet might help his complexion. He gave his arm a gentle tug, hoping that Mercedes would turn, tip her chin up, and flick her hair over her shoulder on the way out, but she remained still. Kurt slouched a bit, suddenly too tired to deal with the same old song and dance, even with Azimio towering over him.

"Wow, you couldn't even wait a day before jumping back onto the Douche Express?" Mercedes planted her free hand on her hip and narrowed her eyes.

"Well excuse me, I wasn't aware you hired a bull dog to guard you, gaywad."

Mercedes dropped her jaw and stepped forward threateningly, her hand slipping out from around Kurt's elbow.

"You wanna say that again to my face, you sorry fat son of a-"

"Kurt, is there a problem here?" Finn's voice sliced into the tension like a cleaver. Mercedes turned around, surprised by the sudden intrusion, and stepped back with victory on her face. It was clear by Azimio's sudden reserved look that he wasn't going to continue.

"We're fine, Finn," Kurt said absently, trying to find his voice in all this. For the first time since freshman year, he didn't feel strong enough to defend himself.

"You want I should have words with him?" Puck asked, stepping between Finn and Azimio, sizing up the challenge before him.

"To hell with you guys," Azimio spat, waving a hand at them. "I'm tired of hearing about what happened. It ain't a hate crime if the guy is justified."

"The hell did you just say?" Mercedes snapped, stepping forward dangerously. But Azimio had waved them off and turned away, vanishing back into the crowd toward the football table. The four New Directions members stood in silence for a moment before Kurt felt a presence beside him and looked down.

"You can eat lunch with me in the biology lab if you want, Kurt," Artie said, offering a smile up at him as Kurt felt the urge to cry sting at his nose. He nodded and took a deep breath, ignoring the ache in his chest. Mercedes sighed and put on a smile, wrapping her arm around Kurt's lower back to lead him out of the room. Before they left, Kurt's eyes landed on the tray Puck was carrying.

"Please tell me you're willing to share."

-x-x-x-

Oh Azimio, you butthead, lay off.

Please Review!


	11. Operator

I'll just leave this here, then.

-x-x-x-

**Operators are standing by.**

"Boo?"

Artie lifted his chin at the familiar voice, but found his favorite blue eyes focused on someone other than him. Following their gaze, he spotted Kurt just as the injured drama queen was looking up from his lunch. The smallest pang of jealousy flashed through Artie's mind before logic chased it away, and he wheeled back a bit, welcoming Brittany further into the science lab.

"Yeah, Brit?" Kurt asked. His voice was weaker than it was before the attack, like he was walking around in a dream. Artie wondered if he was the only one to have noticed.

"I brought you something," Brittany said, smiling at Artie to acknowledge his presence before unwinding her arms from behind her back and holding something out for Kurt to take. At a first glance it looked not unlike a bundled sweater, but as Artie pushed his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose, the figure turned into an old sock monkey. It was well-loved and had, at some point, received a make-over with too much eyeliner, but it's lopsided smile felt like something Brittany would have grown up with.

Kurt was still for a moment before lifting his hands out, his fingers flexing against the cuff of his cast to wrap around the sock monkey. He looked at it with a sort of bewilderment, as though he were holding a baby with a soiled diaper: not entirely willing to touch it, but the endearment and warmth was still there in his eyes. He knew, as Artie did, that this doll was precious.

"I can't stay long. The frog ghosts in here are restless today. _But_, I thought you should have this for a while. His name is Mr Bubble. My imaginary friend used to live in him, and he always told me that Mr Bubble might save my life one day, so I figured if you had him, he might save yours."

Kurt looked passed the button eyes and smiled at Brittany warmly. His arms lowered slowly, bringing the doll toward his chest.

"Thank you," he said, sounding genuine. Brittany smiled and nodded, turning back toward the door. She hopped until she reached the frame before turning and throwing a look back at them over her shoulder.

"You might not want to eat near the sinks. That's where they were murdered."

Artie swallowed his food stiffly, glancing toward the far counter apprehensively.

-x-x-x-

"And this is the dining room! We usually only use it for special occasions, like Thanksgiving or when my dad beats his old high score on Ms Pacman, but there's plenty of room for everyone. I was thinking of doing a Berry-Hudson-Hummel housewarming dinner to celebrate the security and good tidings that comes with your arrival."

Carole nodded with elevated eyebrows, her smile somehow remaining natural after thirty minutes of Rachael's tour. "I love the centerpiece. Really warms the room up."

"Yes," Rachael smiled fondly, "it was a gift from my aunt."

Hanging behind, Burt pushed his hands deeper into his pockets and glanced skeptically around to the corners, trying to decide if there was any lingering threat in the Berry household. So far, everything seemed clean and modern and safe. Finn and Kurt were in the living room, having both been over to the house before, and Burt wondered what they were up to. According to the two of them, the second day of Kurt's back-to-school week had rolled by without any problems.

"See, Burt, this is what I was talking about as far as getting a hutch. I could display the china my mother left me."

Burt turned at the sound of his wife's voice being directed at him, nodding absently for a moment. When he realized he had to respond verbally, he cleared his throat. "Looks great. I can see it in the hallway, by that painting Finn did in the fourth grade."

"Oh, that painting is so adorable," Rachael said, her voice swaying with the grace of an over-practiced hostess. "You'll notice that my childhood art pieces are all on display in the back family room-"

"Dad?"

Burt glanced over his shoulder, mildly startled by Kurt's sudden, quiet presence. "Hey, kiddo. Man you've gotten good at sneaking around. What's up?"

Kurt glanced back down the hallway, making a face at something Burt couldn't see. The eldest Hummel was struck with the strong sense that Finn was waving Kurt to continue.

"We were wondering just how long this arrangement might last?"

Burt blinked before his eyebrows lowered some and he opened his mouth. Kurt, however, must have anticipated the exact response that Burt was prepared to give, because he cut his father off quickly.

"Not that either of us regret this decision, it's _clearly_the safest option, and much more desirable then flying out to visit a relative we don't really know, because Hummel's down run away and all that."

Burt relaxed some, aware that he wouldn't be able to cut in until Kurt was done. His son drew a small breath and continued. "_But_, we're both just concerned about the lack of sleeping arrangements, and you've seen the living room couch. It's clearly the right aesthetic choice, but it's like sitting on a taxidermied polar bear."

"So you're saying neither of you want to take the couch."

Kurt twisted, his body pivoting on his ankles innocently "Well, my ribs are still healing. And my abdomen... And my most of me."

"Alright, point taken. You two'll share a room."

"But they only have one guest bedroom."

Burt opened his mouth to reply before stopping, registering Kurt's point. Glancing over his shoulder, he realized that Rachael had already led Carole through the doorway on the other side of the dining room.

"So where are you two going to sleep?"

Kurt opened his mouth to respond, but the voice that came out was not his own. Appearing beside them, a tall man leaned into view and gave them both a small wave. He had introduced himself at the door as Rachael's father, Greg, but wasn't as talkative as either Rachael or her other dad, Steven.

"We were thinking of setting up a place for you two in the basement, actually," he said politely, his voice patient and reserved. "We have extra mattresses, and I thought you might like that kind of security. I know I would."

Burt straightened his posture, sizing the man up before smiling. "As a matter of fact, I do. Kurt used to have the basement in our old house, I never worried at night. That sound good?" He turned toward his son for confirmation. The smallest Hummel just smiled and nodded, suddenly not so sure if he wanted to speak.

"Excellent. Here, how about I just show you right to the guest room then? Rachael means well, but she's probably been giving you an earful about _everything._"

Burt laughed. "Well, I'm not gunna lie."

The two walked off, continuing their conversation, leaving Kurt standing in the hallway. He was still for a moment before turning and walking back into the living room.

"How'd it go?" Finn asked, sitting upright. He watched as Kurt eased himself onto the couch silently, blowing a breath out between slightly-parted lips.

"I think we're gunna be here for a while."

Finn made a face and fell back onto the stiff cushions, frowning. "Man. They've movie collection isn't even that great. I didn't think about that when I was packing."

"Woe is us," Kurt muttered, "misjudged, misplaced and without proper Hollywood stimulation."

"Yeah," Finn agreed without the slightest idea of what Kurt had said, "and all they have is health food."

-x-x-x-

Finn stretched his good arm over his head, holding it up as long as he could before his entire body crumpled onto the mattress beneath him. Across the floor, Kurt was lying on his own bed, propped up by pillows, eyes scanning over a chapter in his French book. The small stage was behind them, reminding them of Rachael's attempt at a high school party. Neither had mentioned it while her fathers were setting up their sleeping arrangements.

The ceiling was less interesting than Finn remembered. Without the aid of alcohol, it didn't swirl or warp, and after only a few moments of staring at it, Finn was bored. "How's Blaine?" he asked, hoping to strike up conversation.

Kurt, completely engrossed in his studying, didn't hear Finn's question. With some effort, Finn lifting one of the pillows they had been given and tossed it across the way, watching it land on Kurt's knees. His stepbrother jumped, startled out of his wits, before flinching and curling in on himself.

"Sorry," Finn winced, regretting the action immediately. Slowly and stiffly, Kurt relaxed back into his pillows, shooting his brother a dirty look.

"What?"

Finn returned his eyes to the ceiling for the smallest second, hoping that it would diffuse the annoyance that was knitting Kurt's eyebrows together. "Um. I was wondering how Blaine was. You called him earlier, right?"

Kurt tucked his notes into the pages of his book and closed it, setting it down beside him on the floor. "He's alright. Still worried, but he seems to think it's best that we're here."

"Yeah," Finn responded, sitting up straight. With a practiced hand, he unclipped the sling behind his neck and pulled it away, slowly stretching his arm out and rolling it around. Though his shoulder was sore, the pain was only lingering. He could probably go through the next day without the sling and manage alright.

"Feeling better?" Kurt asked in a sigh, watching Finn with vague envy written on his face. The taller boy gave a half nod and a smile.

"Yeah. You?"

"Guess."

He managed a smile before an unfamiliar song, small and electronic, cut into their conversation. Kurt looked to his far side and reached down, lifting his phone into view. Realizing that he had been suddenly forgotten, Finn blew a small raspberry in Kurt's direction and fell back into his pillows to listen.

"Hey Brittany-... Puck?"

Finn glanced over at Kurt, his eyebrow pulling higher on his face. Kurt looked confused, a little put off, and concerned.

"... What do you mean 'found the guy'?... No, Noah, do _not_do that. How do you even have Brittany's phone?... What?... Wait, stop, slow down. Noah Puckerman don't you dare put the phone down. What do you mean you found out who did it?"

Finn was sitting up before he even realized it. He could hear, faintly, a very small electronic voice chattering over the phone, punctuated by Kurt occasionally trying to cut it off with a "what" or "wait". Before Finn could make out what was happening, Kurt pulled the phone away from his ear, looking at it quizzically.

"What was that?" Finn asked, turning his body toward Kurt. The smaller boy stared at his phone a moment longer before turning his eyes toward his brother, mouth silently.

"Kurt? What did Puck say?"

Suddenly, Kurt closed his mouth and set the phone down beside him. He glanced up at Finn, sheer panic radiating from his eyes.

"He thinks he knows who attacked us. He's going to 'investigate'."

-x-x-x-

Puckerman: ladies man, juvenile delinquent, vigilante.

Good god what have I done.


	12. 3G

Okay, so, I acknowledge that I'm the worst person ever, and I apologize for that. I can't believe it's been four months since I last updated. Hell, almost five now. So, to make it up those of you who are still here, I'm going to post three chapters this week. This one will kick it off, and the next two will follow as promptly as I can get them to, in hopes of either reviving this story, of convincing you guys to not hate me.

**Note:** my biggest issue with this fic is that it's strayed so far from the show's canon. When I started writing this, I don't think Blaine and Kurt were even together. And clearly, things have changed a lot since then. I'm going to keep this canon the way it is though, but I _will_ be going back and editing the last chapter so at least Rachel's dad's names are correct. I'm sorry if the canon for this story throws anyone off—lord knows it throws me off. But I'm going to keep it consistent and finish it off the way it is.

**Second note: **with Glee on hiatus until April something, (this note made 2/26, for my own record,) there will probably be a lapse where the fandom isn't as active, and that's chill. But please, if you are at all interested in this story, help me not fall into that lapse? Spam the shit out of my email, I won't hate you, I'll appreciate it. I love this story and want to finish it, but I'm the laziest fuck you'll ever meet, and a little encouragement goes a long way.

Thank you guys, I really appreciate that you're still here reading it. I'm so sorry I've been such a shit author.

-x-x-x-

The sun rose to find an empty Hummel-Hudson household, light rain, and a very panicked Kurt and Finn. The two had tried in vain to get a hold of Puck, resulting in seven failed calls and fifteen unanswered text messages. By the time Carole popped open the door at the top of the stairs and called for them to come to breakfast, both Finn and Kurt were sitting on their respective mattresses, awake and exhausted.

"He'll tell us at school today," Kurt muttered as they moved up the steps. His tone was far less confident than he had hoped it'd be. "If something had happened, we'd have heard about it by now."

Finn's chance to reply dwindled as they reached the top of the stairs. It was strange waking up in another person's house, but stranger still to lie awake wondering if your friend was alive. They ate in silence, neither willing to bring this new twist of events to light. Harim insisted on driving the three seniors to school that day, and Finn briefly wondered if the opportunity would be good to tell Rachel. It took one look from Kurt for him to change his mind.

"It's kind of exciting," Rachel said as they paced up toward the main entrance of the school, her father lingering for only a few moments before peeling away. "Arriving like an entourage from Hollywood. Imagine us on the red carpet."

Kurt gave her a forced smile, one that she recognized. Her eyesbrows dropped just a fraction. "Are you alright?"

"Oh, yeah, just didn't sleep that great. New environment and all that."

Rachel seemed to accept this answer at face value as they entered through the double doors and waded into the lobby. Both Finn and Kurt exchanged a glance, silently agreeing to look for Puckerman. After Rachel gave Finn a quick kiss goodbye, she hooked her arm around Kurt's, and the small group parted.

"So, I know things have been crazy, but I was thinking last night that the three of us should do a song together," Rachel started. Some part of Kurt recognized that she was trying to keep the mood elevated, lest it sink into something depressing and make matters worse. He appreciated it, but as she talked about their ability to practice together after school, and then about song choices, his mind kept pulling back to Noah.

Only, it didn't take long to find him. Or rather, be found by him. Kurt was saying goodbye to Rachel and stepping tiredly in the direction of his French class when a large hand landed on his shoulder, making him flinch.

"There you are. Jesus, Hummel, you're like Casper floating around all up in this place. Listen, I need to talk to you about last night."

"_Please _don't tell me you did something stupid," Kurt sighed, stopping and turning to face him. Puck hunched his shoulders and glanced left and right, a mischievous grin spreading on his face.

"Don't worry, we didn't get caught. Santana called me yesterday and said she had been doing some undercover shit, and found something interesting, so we met up. Brittany came along too."

_Well,_ Kurt though, _that answers why he had her phone_. He watched Puckerman closely, waiting for him to continue. Despite his nervousness about it, Kurt was just as desperate to know who was threatening him as everyone else. Perhaps moreso.

"So," Puck continued, standing up a bit straighter now that he was sure Kurt wouldn't cut him off, "Santana was trying to think about who was-"

"No, no," a new voice cut in, before a pair of sultry brown eyes swept in between the two of them. Santana gave Puckerman a disapproving look and turned her shoulder toward him, facing Kurt directly. "This is my genius discovery, I get to tell it."

"Hi Boo," Brittany cooed over Santana's shoulder. Kurt gave her a small half-smile before Santana snapped to get his attention.

"Okay, so listen to this. I was thinking about who would have any connection to you. I mean, some random Bible beater isn't going to go this far to scare you off, right? And while I was getting my Dragon Tattoo on at the library, I found this article about a your dad's garage from a few years ago."

Puck leaned back in. "I didn't want to go, because she was at the library, but when she told me what she found-"

"Seriously, Puckerman, let me tell it."

"Well excuse me, I was the freakin' _ninja _last night."

"Oh, please, the only thing you can 'ninja' is your-"

"_Ladies,_" Kurt cut in, throwing an exasperated sigh into the middle of the conversation, "I have to get to class. Can you crouch your tigers some other time and get on with it?"

Santana responded with an indignant flick of her hair before planting her palms on her hips. "As I was saying," she pushed, ignoring Noah's brief spluttering, "this article about your dad's garage was just as boring as everything else until I found until it mentioned something about a _rival business_. So I look into it, right? And it's some other garage on the outskirts of Lima, owned by this older guy and his two partners."

Kurt stared at her, clearly missing the punchline. She sighed and looked toward Brittany, who shrugged back. "I don't get it either."

"Brit, you were _there_. Ugh," Santana sighed, "I have to spoon feed it, fine. These three guys are super religious, right? And their shop is practically a ghost town now that your dad's garage is doing so well and taking all their business. So this first guy that attacked you, who you _said_ looked like he was covered in grease, right? He gets arrested. And then a second guy chucks a brick at your window, and _he _looked slimy too?"

Kurt suddenly felt uncomfortable-the memories were just a bit too recent, and at the same time, he didn't need everyone in the hallway to hear about it. Still, Santana's implications were starting to dawn on him.

"Yeah?"

She practically beamed at his positive affirmation. "Well then, we figured that was it. I mean, it has to be them, right? They have a grudge against your dad, and they're Jesus freaks, so they attack you because they get some sick sense of justice from it."

Kurt stared at her for a moment, only collecting himself once the bell rang above them. "So, you went to the library. That's it?"

She seemed to deflate a little, annoyed that her hard work wasn't getting the praise from Kurt she had anticipated. Before she could speak, though, Puck shrugged.  
"No, we totally went over to their place to check it out, and we found all these old cars and shit that are totally busted up, and it was super creepy. And when we looked inside, there were only _two_ guys hanging out in there. Not three. And they looked pretty pissed about something."

People started to move around the hallways, heading toward whatever class they had. Kurt took a deep breath and chewed carefully on his lower lip, considering this new information.

"Well?" Santana looked at him expectantly.

"_Well_," he returned, perhaps too sharply, "I think it's all really circumstantial. Listen, I appreciate you guys trying to help, but Finn and I were seriously worried that you'd get hurt last night. So _please_, Noah, don't do anything stupid, okay? And Santana, while I really appreciate the effort, I just think it's a reach, that's all."

She looked miffed at this, and lifted her hands up to display it. "Oh, come _on_, you've been through so much shit since high school started, you don't deserve this. Besides, you have to live with that dwarf now, it's absolutely unjust."

"How's Mr Bubbles?" Brittany asked, suddenly stealing the conversation. Kurt sighed and gave her a grateful smile.

"He's fine. Right next to my bag at Rachel's, safe and sound."

Santana huffed. "Okay, whatever, but I'm so right. Just you wait."

-x-x-x-

Okay. Onto the next chapter.


	13. Cellular

Here's the next one, as promised. Again, thanks for sticking with me. I still feel bad for my shoddy track record, but I really appreciate the reviews and the favs/alerts that I got with the last chapter. So thank you! I figure I'll post the next chapter on either Thursday or Friday.

-x-x-x-

_Reflection_.

It was underlined twice on the whiteboard, in Schuester's nearly-illegible, over-sized handwriting. As the New Directions calmed down and took their seats, Will paced around the piano and stood before them, popping his hip out unconsciously and leaning his weight on one leg.

"These past few weeks have been pretty rough and fast, and I know that. Finn and Kurt have been through a lot, as have the rest of us, and I think it's time we do a little something to cheer ourselves up." He started to pace as he said this, waving a dry erase marker like a wand. "Now, I was thinking about it all night, and I realized that, maybe a little _reflection _will be good for all of us. To look back at a time when things weren't so complicated."

"Lame," Santana sighed.

"No offense, Mr Schue," Artie started cautiously, "but I think that just opens the door to have people remember things they'd rather not remember."

Will pointed the marker at him directly. "Which is _exactly _why I've decided to specify the assignment. I want you all to think back to when you were little kids, and what your favorite thing to do was. When you got home from school, what did you play with? What were your favorite cartoons, your favorite snack? Who was your best friend? People like remembering these things, and since the present has been rough and the future might seem a little scary right now, I want you all to go back to when you were little."

"When I was little, I had webbed feet," Brittany said, mostly to Santana, who nodded at her slowly and fought a skeptical look.

"I like this idea," Finn said suddenly. "But, what kind of songs would we sing?"

Will turned back toward the piano and scooped up a notebook full of loose papers. "I'm glad you asked, Finn. You all have nursery rhymes and songs that you liked when you were kids. Try to remember them, and give them your own twist-make them new, make them grown-up, or modern. The best rendition wins."

Puck looked around curiously. "Um, I don't know about the rest of you, but I've been listening to AC/DC since I was in a crib."

They spun into conversation then, branching off into different pockets as the New Directions began to remember things from their childhoods. Will leaned back against the piano and smiled, watching as the mood lifted higher and higher. Soon, they were laughing at shared memories.

"Remember Zoom?" Mercedes asked. "I wanted to be on that show so badly."

"I used to know Ubby Dubby," Mike laughed, launching into a bizarre speech pattern that Will couldn't place. His eyes swept around the room, happy to see his students relaxed for the first time since the attack. It wasn't until he spotted Kurt that he frowned.

The teen was scratching gently at his cast, listening and offering a small grin when it was appropriate. But he wasn't at all involved with the conversations happening around him, and Will could see sadness on his face. As he walked over, he tried to remain subtle in his concerns.

"You alright, Kurt?"

Glassy eyes lifted toward him before clearing. He smiled a bit. "Yes, I'm fine."

"You look kinda sad, dude," Finn chimed in, concern returning his face slowly. Kurt shrugged at him and adjusted the way his cast sat on his lap.

"It's nothing. I just can't think about that stuff without thinking of my mom. Which is fine, but, after all that's happened, I just... I don't know."

Will frowned. His intentions had been to lift the stress off of his kids while they were here, but it appeared to have backfired.

"Yeah, well, it won't last much longer, right?" Puck said when the room got quiet. Eyes turned toward him one at a time.

"What do you mean?" Will asked, standing up straight. Puck's shoulders shifted with pride.

"We found the guys who attacked Kurt."

Finn's head snapped around. He had spoken to Puck before the glee meeting, but his explanations weren't that convincing when he wasn't flanked by Santana's sharp tongue. Before he could speak, Quinn turned around in her chair and faced Puck directly.

"What do you mean?"

The addressed badass shrugged. "It's these three Jesus freaks that own a garage outside of town. They have some grudge with Kurt's dad, so they took it out on him."

"Noah, how do you know this," Will asked, authority filling his tone. Quinn cut him off.

"Okay, just because someone is religious does _not _mean they're bigoted or homophobic."

"And _how _exactly did you find any of this out?" Artie cut in.

"Santana dug around at the library," Puck pushed, starting to sense that some line had been crossed. He pushed his index finger in Santana's direction, turning the attention toward her. She sighed and shrugged.

"I just wanted to know who's been creepin' on Kurt. I went to the library and did a little research, that's all. You should be proud of me, I actually found a way to apply all these stupid study skills in the real world."

"You guys can't just go throwing blame around at people, it can be really damaging," Will sighed, physically stepping back to organize this new information. "Besides, you should be leaving this kind of stuff to the police. It's their job to take care of it."

"Look," Santana huffed, "at least we're _doing _something. What are the cops doing, sending a single squad car to circle Kurt and Finn's house? Like that'll do anything."

"Santana," Kurt said suddenly, looking up toward her, "it's alright. Please, Mr Schue is right."

"Besides," Finn added, "we're not even there anymore. We're safe and sound at Rachel's house." As he spoke, he smiled at Rachel and laced his fingers into her, giving her hand a little squeeze.

As if on cue, Kurt's phone started to vibrate against his hip. He blinked, startled by the unexpected intrusion, and lifted himself off the plastic chair to fish it from his tight pocket. "Excuse me," he muttered, grateful for the excuse to turn away from the current topic of conversation. He paced over to the doorway and checked the caller ID. _Blaine. _He smiled and lifted the phone to his ear.

"Hello?"

_"Hey, Kurt. Listen, I was talking to my parents about everything that's been going on, and... I can't sleep knowing that you're there, in trouble. I know Westerville is too out of the way for you to stay here, but I was thinking maybe we could meet up on Saturday. Like, your dad could drive you and Finn up, and we could hang out or something. To get your mind off of things?"_

Kurt glanced back toward the rest of the New Directions, who were sitting around chatting. Some of them had accusatory looks on their faces, telling him they were still discussing Santana's research.

"That sounds lovely," he sighed, "I'm just not sure my dad'll go for it."

_"Well, I'm hoping he says yes, because they're showing the Wizard of Oz at the lunchroom theater here."_

"I'll convince him," Kurt said, suddenly excited at the prospect of watching the classic with Blaine beside him. They'd done it before, of course, but the familiar pass time was too inviting to turn down. "Thank you, Blaine. I really appreciate it."

_"Of course. Just... be safe, okay? I'm worry about you."_

Kurt smiled out the doorway and shrugged gently, surprised to find that he wasn't as sore as he had been earlier. "I know, but I'm alright. This'll all calm down before we know it."

He didn't sound very convincing, but when Blaine answered, there was a warm happiness in his tone. _"I love you, Kurt."_

"I love you too," he replied, his grin widening. "I'll call you tonight."

He hung up and looked out the door for a moment, swimming in the comfort of his boyfriend's ambient voice, trying to hold onto the feeling of comfort as long as he could. Before he could turn back toward the choir room, he felt his phone vibrate again, and he smiled, answering it while glancing toward Finn.

"Forget something?" he asked, the smile making his words sound warmer. What had Blaine failed to mention?

_"Your mother is crying in heaven, faggot. And now her tombstone shows it."_

-x-x-x-

Oh. Well, shit.


	14. Rotary Dial

Friday! I'm starting to get a pretty good idea of how all the final scenes will piece together, so here's hoping the next chapters come as swiftly as these. We're extremely close to the climax, I just need to fit in a little more development before we get there.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed! I really appreciate it, it makes me want to write more. :)

-x-x-x-

There was an electric charge in the air, a low buzz that only Kurt could hear. It followed him into restless sleep and back out again, filling all the gaps in conversation, all the murmuring. His father's anger, Carole's words of comfort, the questions officer Schroeder asked. Eventually, Kurt recognized that it was there; he was brushing his teeth, and realized that a hum was filling his head, softening everything around him. He looked into the mirror above the sink and stilled.

A line had been crossed. Comparatively, being hit by a car, beaten, threatened with a noose and chase from his home—it all paled to this. When you have a grudge against someone, you can pull out all the stops, you can leave dignity at the door and put your all into tearing them down, but you never cross this line. No one does. You never bring the deceased into it.

The tombstone wasn't fancy, in any sense. Whether it was because they couldn't afford it at the time, or because his mother insisted on something simple, Kurt didn't know. But he had spent the last nine years visiting it, placing flowers at its base, singing to it. Wishing that the epitaph was longer, because surely, five words didn't cover it. '_She will always be loved' _was true, but it hardly scratched the surface. All the things he wanted to say to her, all the memories he had. Everything that his mother was, it couldn't all fit onto the stone. But it was there somehow, with every bouquet he set down, with every word he spoke. All those Sundays, rain or sleet or snow. He and his father had built her aura around it, and even though Kurt knew she wasn't there, it still felt like her. His mother's final resting place.

And in the cloak of a single, chilly night, it had been destroyed. Broken into two chunks, the lower half still stuck into the earth. Pink spray paint scarred its surface, the hard letters running in the rain. _Faggot lover_.

Burt had reached a point with his anger that Carole had to separate him from Kurt, just to keep him from making things worse. For the first two days, Kurt cried. He was only thinking of his mother, trying to lose himself to the electric humming in his ears, a white noise that he had never heard before. He would sit by her dresser with his forehead against his knees, trying to fold himself into her memory.

It wasn't until he had found out what they had written on his mother's grave, until he heard Carole whisper it to a friend, that the humming suddenly started to grow into static. The renewed anxiety, the shock, the fear—the overwhelming sadness—it began to turn into something new.

Anger.

Raw, uncharacteristic anger swelled in his gut, building higher into his chest each time he thought about it. It became so strong that it started calling for escape, calling for him to grab something and throw it, slam a door, punch a wall. Kurt wasn't used to such unbearable rage; he didn't know how to handle it. They hurt him, they hurt Finn, they hurt his family. They threatened his life. And now they _disgraced his mother_. Broke her grave, one of the few reminders he had left, one of the last places where her memory still lingered.

He imagined the lanky man, who had thrown the brick at his window. He pictured himself bringing his father's oak baseball bat into the side of the man's head, and it felt good, however momentarily. It felt like justice.

But, he knew better. Kurt hated violence, hated the fact that it was all he wanted. But mostly, he hated that his mother would tell him to take a deep breath and be the bigger person. Because it was for her sake that he felt so angry; he couldn't just turn the other cheek.

"Kurt?"

He looked away from the mirror to find Rachel looming in the doorway of the bathroom. He hadn't realized how long he'd been standing there, staring at himself.

"Do you have a minute," she asked gently, sounding hopeful and concerned. Kurt rinsed his toothbrush and set it down in its travel case before giving her a brief nod. He followed her down the hallway, keeping his eyes on the hem of her nightgown as it trailed around her calves. Like everything else during the past few days, it made him think of his mother.

"I was hoping you'd be up for a little impromptu girl's night," she said gently. Everyone had bee gentle with him lately. Not for fear of making him cry, but because they sensed something had changed within him. And it had.

"Girl's night?" he repeated, stopping beside Rachel's door and peering into her room. Her bed and been decorated with an inviting layer of blankets and pillows, and a stack of DVDs were sitting beside her flat-screen television. Kurt looked blankly at the home screen of The Wizard of Oz and said nothing.

"Yes, just a little something to lift the mood. Would you rather watch something else?"

Kurt shook his head and turned suddenly, finding it in himself to smile at her. "No," he said, "Blaine and I had planned on watching The Wizard of Oz this weekend anyway. Thank you, Rachel."

Her smile flickered between softness and excitement, as she looped her hands around his elbow and led him into the room. He followed, struggling to latch on to the sudden chance at a good mood. It felt fleeting, like it could flutter away at any moment. He stopped halfway to Rachel's bed as an idea came to him, and despite the concerned look that she suddenly gave him, he turned away.

"Don't worry, I just want to grab something from downstairs. I'll be right back." He left before she could protest, though he did hear a confused "okay" follow him out of the room. Quickly, Kurt scooted down the hall and ghosted into the lower part of the house. As he crossed the kitchen, his eyes searching for the door to the basement, he found Finn standing by the fridge.

"Hey Kurt," he greeted, shrugging. He had both of his arms back in good health now—if his shoulder was still sore, he didn't say anything. Kurt have him a half-smile, which was more than Finn had seen in the last few days.

"You alright, dude?" he asked, shifting. Whatever vibe Kurt had been giving off recently, be it sadness or anger, Finn didn't know how to approach it. Now he saw a chance.

"I'm alright. Rachel has organized a girl's night."

Finn grinned, the same goofy way he always did. "Yeah, I helped her bring in some pillows and stuff from the hall closet."

Kurt's eyebrows elevated just a small amount, surprised at Finn's investment in an event usually reserved for Kurt, Rachel and Mercedes. Finn seemed to sense this, that maybe the comment was a little out of place.

"So, you're gunna watch movies, then? I mean, I thought it'd be in Rachel's room."

Kurt watched him flounder for a moment before realizing, quiet suddenly, that the humming had stopped. Finn's familiar discomfort had silenced it.

"It is," Kurt smiled, suddenly embracing the chance to relax his stomach muscles. "I'm just going to get something."

Finn's face mirrored Kurt's sudden happiness. "Okay, awesome. Um, I was wondering, while you're here... Can you help me tomorrow? Mom and Burt have been really stressed, and I thought we could bake them something, but I can't bake, so..." he trailed off his eyes darting around, unable to settle directly on Kurt. The countertenor smiled; it was nice, not having the humming around.

"Sure, Finn. That's a great idea."

They parted then, silently agreeing that the moment was over. Kurt pulled open the basement door and move down the steps in a haze, stopping beside his bag and angling himself carefully to pick up Mr Bubbles. The old sock monkey felt oddly warm in his grasp, and he smiled again. If anything could anchor him in the moment and help him stay happy, Brittany's doll was it.

The hum didn't return until morning.

-x-x-x-

I don't know about you guys, but I'm sensing some Klaine coming up…


End file.
